


Order Now!

by sinecure



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: AU, Drama, F/M, Mystery, Romance, Sex, Sexual Content, Violence, magic use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 110,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinecure/pseuds/sinecure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike gets a new toy he wasn't expecting, and Willow finds out that life--and Gods--can sometimes throw humans for a loop. *major WiP*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Order Now!  
>  **Summary:** Spike gets a new toy he wasn't expecting, and Willow finds out that life--and Gods--can sometimes throw humans for a loop.  
>  **Author:** sinecure  
>  **Rated:** R  
>  **Disclaimer:** Joss and ME own BtVS, I don't, and the way these past seasons are going, I'm glad I don't.  
>  **A/N:** This takes place during mid-season 5.

Prologue

Spike tore down all the pictures of Buffy from the altar he'd practically worshiped at and threw them into a cardboard box. Everything went. Photos, the soft, pale blue sweater he'd spent too many hours sniffing, the drawings, everything. Shoving the crumpled pieces of paper into the box with a snarl, he ended up tipping it over and the entire contents fell to the floor.

He rolled his eyes in irritation. "Bloody... hell!" Stooping down to pick it all up, he growled at the turn his life had taken in recent years. "Bloody slayer and her bloody friends mucking up the works at every bloody turn. Needs to be taught a lesson is what she needs." Once again the sweater went into the box, the smell of it, faded almost to nothing, wafting to his nose, tickling his senses.

He dropped into a sitting position, setting the box beside him on the dusty floor. Leaning back against the wall with a sigh, he eyed the box. Pictures of Buffy peered back at him around the sleeve of the blue sweater. He reached for the top picture and unfolded it, smoothing out the wrinkled creases. It was taken sometime during a bright sunny afternoon. In it, Buffy and Willow, both with an arm wrapped around Xander, grinned at the camera, while Xander gazed surreptitiously at Buffy.

He ran his fingertip along Buffy's face, hating Xander for having ever been that close to her, when he himself couldn't get to within a hundred feet without her beating him soundly.

********

Tara's hand tightened on Willow's, her eyes widening as the magick came up around them, wrapping them in bright red light. Warmth flowed through her, and she could see that Willow felt the same thing. Her skin was glistening with sweat, her eyes wide as they stared straight ahead. The red silk of her blouse shimmered darker and lighter as her chest rose up and down in rapid pants.

A frisson of worry went through Tara as Willow's breathing became even more ragged, her eyes darkening to black. "Willow--" she began, but Willow's eyes shot to her, silencing her. The fingers wrapped around her hands tightened painfully, but she didn't let go. She trusted Willow.

"Goddess," Willow whispered on a breath of a sigh, "hear my plea and grant my--" her hands went slack for a split second before tightening even more, her head went back, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Tara tried to drop Willow's hands to stop the magick, but she was trapped. "Willow!" She stared in panic at the red magick flowing around her, faster and faster, encompassing her body and outstretched hands. "Willow, stop--" the magick flowed into her body, choking the breath out of her, shoving her thoughts to the side as it went deeper, shoving into her mind. Picking through her thoughts like a child going through a toy box. It was hard to breathe, hard to stay focused on what was happening to her. Her eyes slid shut as consciousness left her.

********

Spike rolled his eyes as he listened to the geek try to talk his girl into forgiving him. It didn't appear to be working real well. He heard the click signaling the other end had been hung up and waited.

After a second, Warren sighed and turned to hang up the phone. He saw Spike standing there with his box of Buffy stuff and gasped. "How-- how'd you get in here?"

"Your mum let me in." He walked a little closer to the geek, his anger carefully controlled. Didn't want to scare him too much. "I'm placing an order."

"Oh, no, no," Warren said, shaking his head. "I'm not making any more girls." He looked very determined.

But Spike was even more so. "Sure you are." He shoved the box into Warren's hands, hardly sparing a glance at the contents. He knew every picture, every object, and every smell by heart. Now he wanted the real thing. "Here's your specs."

Warren looked down at the box. A few strands of blonde hair from the wig Spike had nabbed from the dump were hooked over the edge. His eyes lifted again to stare at Spike.

"You're gonna make her real good for me," Spike told him, the threat there in his tone, if not his smile.

********

Willow tapped Tara's face gently, tamping down on the panic threatening to overwhelm her. "Come on, baby, wake up. Please."

Tara exhaled heavily, her whole body shaking with the force of it before going limp. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she glanced around in confusion. "What--" she paused to lick her dry lips, "what happened?"

Willow laughed, blinking back tears, the overwhelming panic turning into overwhelming relief. "I don't know," she told her girlfriend, hugging her tight. "God, I thought... you weren't breathing for a second, and then there was light and it went-- whoosh! Right out of you, out the window... are you okay?" she asked softly, kissing Tara's forehead.

Tara nodded, pushing herself up. Willow helped her into a sitting position, but wouldn't let her get to her feet. "I'm fine," Tara told her, smiling a little tiredly. She kissed Willow and climbed to her feet. Her steps were a little unsteady as she walked to the foot of the bed and collapsed down on it. "Well, maybe not running-a-marathon-soon fine, but stumbling-across-a-room fine."

Willow sat beside her, smoothing her hand down Tara's hair. Her eyes moved over her girlfriend slowly, taking in every small gasp, every shaking movement. She wasn't as fine as she wanted Willow to believe. "That shouldn't have happened," Willow said quietly, her guilt showing quite plainly on her face. "It was just a stupid happiness spell. To make us feel--"

"--the full extent of our happiness," Tara finished with a sigh, patting Willow's hand absently. "I know. That... that wasn't right. Something happened, something that, as usual, we didn't expect." She turned heavy eyes Willow's way, her forehead wrinkling in a frown. "We should slow down with the magick, I think. Nothing ever goes right when we do spells." She rubbed a shaking hand across her forehead. "Maybe it's me," she whispered, so low that Willow almost didn't hear her.

"What? No, it's... it's not you," Willow insisted, grabbing Tara's hands with more force than she'd intended. "Sorry, but, it's me. I've always been unstable when it comes to magick, and Giles always tells me to be careful, and I am, but things always happen... it's me. Not you. Or us. Just me."

Tara nodded, though she looked far from convinced.

********

Warren watched Spike leave, not daring to move or breathe until the door shut quietly behind him. With the click of the knob snapping back into position, he dropped the box to the floor as if burned. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn't make another girl, especially not the girl who'd fought April and won. There was some serious strength behind that girl. And he had no intention of messing with her, or her strength.

He looked down at the box, shoving the strands of blonde wig back inside. It gave him the creeps. What was that guy doing with this stuff? And, yuck, what had he done to it?

Stepping back in disgust, he rubbed his hands over his face, sighing heavily. Things were getting too complicated, too involved. He should just leave.

But he wouldn't. He'd do as the guy asked and then leave. He didn't want to end up dead after all. And there was still Katrina to-- dropping his hands from his face, he kicked at the box. It skidded a foot, then tipped.

The red wig spilled to the floor along with all the pictures. Warren stared at it for a second, frowning in confusion. Hadn't the wig been blonde?


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 1

Spike stared at the robot in front of him, then past her to Warren. No trace of what he was feeling was showing on his face, which was a good thing, otherwise Warren would probably be running for his life right now. "Some say it's better'n the real thing," he told Warren.

Warren nodded nervously. "Better than the real thing."

Spike's eyes turned gold as they shot once more to the robot girl. His hands fisted at his sides, teeth grinding together. He could feel a muscle in his jaw ticking. All he wanted to do was jump on Warren and rip his head from his shoulders, then stick a straw in his neck and suck the bastard dry. "You know what's even better though?" he asked softly, his eyes lifting to Warren.

Warren's eyes widened and he gulped loudly, stepping back a foot, and then another. A single glance behind him confirmed that he was trapped between Spike and the wall. "Um, wh-- what's that?"

"The right... girl!"

Warren gulped again, gesturing to the robot. "She's just like you told me to make her." He grabbed some pictures from his back pocket and unfolded them. "See? There she is. Looks just like her." He held the photos out, pointing to the girl with a shaking hand. "Just-- just like her."

Spike nodded, putting a hand to his chin as he walked around the robot, looking her up and down. A pair of red tennis shoes covered the feet of the robot. Her legs were encased in black jeans, her top-- Spike chuckled darkly, remembering the pink fuzzy sweater with the lilacs on it. Biteable, he'd told her. Well, the real her, not the robot her. And even now she looked entirely biteable, but she wasn't who he wanted. Her red hair, cut just as it had been that night, was brushing against her shoulders.

He reached out a hand, smoothing it down the strands. Felt like real hair. Just as he remembered hers feeling that night. He inhaled deeply. Smelled a bit the same too. But something was off... and what the hell did he care?

"Destroy her and do it over." He spun around to face Warren, the bot no longer between them. "I wanted Buffy, not Willow. I gave you pictures of Buffy. Her sweater, a blonde wig, how the hell did you come up with me wanting Willow?"

Warren frowned down at the pictures crumpled tightly in his hands. He held them out again, gesturing to Willow, the lone occupant of the pictures. "It was a red wig. With her pictures. There wasn't any bl-- blonde..." he trailed off at Spike's glare, looking over at the box of things he'd made Willow from. "The stuff you brought me is over there."

Spike circled around to look into Willow's face. It was... eerie. Kind of creepy. Her eyes, green he assumed, were closed, her head held high. She stood with her hands by her side, unresponsive to everything around her. It was the most still he'd ever seen her. He chuckled, liking her this way. She talked way too much at times. Reaching up with his right hand, he fingered her hair by her face. She didn't flinch this time, like she had in the warehouse, didn't pull back and tell him there'd be no having with her.

This robot had no spunk in her. No life. But Spike found himself more than a little curious to see what she'd be like once turned on. Besides, maybe they could learn from their mistakes with this one, use Willow as a learning tool. Whatever she did wrong, he'd have Warren fix on the new bot he made. And he would be making another one.

Glancing at Warren in irritation, he strode over to the box. Looking down, he saw a red wig, and photos of Willow and the others. Mostly there were pictures of Willow, drawings of her, jewelry that he didn't recognize. The blue sweater was gone. He looked over his shoulder at the pink sweater Willow was wearing.

"This isn't my stuff. Is this a joke? Did they put you up to this?" he demanded, throwing the box and its contents to the floor. Items he didn't recognize fell out, along with pictures he did recognize, but instead of Willow and Xander being folded back, it was Buffy and Xander. "What the hell is going on here? Did they do this?" Had they found out about his plans and thought to teach him a lesson by... by what? Giving him his very own lesbian witch?

"Who-- who's they? I don't... no. You're the only one who's been here." Warren stepped forward, closer to the Willow-bot. "You don't like her? She's, uh, she's pretty, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," Spike said, getting to his feet and stalking over to the Willow-bot. "She looks good, just great. But she's not the girl I wanted." He stared at Willow, hating her for ruining his perfect fantasy. He'd been so close to having Buffy, to finally having Buffy... but she'd ruined it. Maybe he'd keep her around to torture. Beat on her a bit... he shrugged, turning back to Warren. "You're making me another, twerp. The girl I want is the blonde. Buffy! Make me a Buffy!"

Warren nodded his head hastily, shoving the pictures back into his pocket. "O-- okay. All right. I'll..." he trailed off, heading back to the box to sift through the pictures there. "The blonde, right?"

"Yes," Spike said absently, trailing a hand down Willow's cheek. It was soft, like silk. Did the real Willow's skin feel like this? He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but came up with a blank. "Turn her on," he told Warren, "I want to see her in action."

Warren picked up the box, dropping it onto the side table to look fearfully at Spike. "Why? I-- I thought she was the wrong one..."

Spike raised an eyebrow at him, letting his eyes go gold again. "Just do it."

"Okay. Um, hold on a second..."

"A little walk, a little talk..." Spike mused, wondering how exactly he could use this to his advantage. The possibilities were endless really. And to have one of Buffy as well... he was getting all excited just thinking about it. He'd keep Willow around for fun, turn her on all her friends or something equally as neat as that. But Buffy, he'd have her around for other things. "Make her do things... show me what Buffy will be able to do... perhaps a zippy cartwheel..."

Warren moved forward, gesturing to Willow. "Hey, she's, uh, great. You'll be real happy, I swear, she's got everything you asked for. All the extra programming, tons of real?world knowledge, the profiles you gave me about her family and friends." He ran a hand over her stomach, lifting up the fuzzy pink sweater and pressing on the flesh.

Spike watched him curiously. " _All_ the extra programming, right?" Hmm, perhaps he could test them on Willow, and they could be fine-tuned for Buffy.

Warren's hand opened a door on Willow's stomach, revealing wires and chips, little lights and all sorts of things running behind the skin. "Ah, the, the stuff that you wanted, the, uh, scenario responses, you know, the, uh, uh, special... skills..." he paused, laughing nervously, glancing at Spike as he pressed a button then shut the door, smoothing the sweater back into place. "Her plug's in here too, um, just recharge her once a week or so... she won't remember it. I programmed her to think she's sleeping. She even has dreams."

"Great. And the extras?" Spike repeated, making sure they were all there.

"All of it," Warren told him, nodding hastily. "You sure you don't want just her?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "I'm sure." He touched Willow's cheek again, then pressed a finger into the simulated skin. It had give, much like human skin did, but there was something a little off about it. He'd have to have Warren fix that for Buffy. "She looks a little shiny to me, you know, uh... touch of plasticine..."

Willow's eyes opened--more brown than green, he noticed--startling him slightly, causing him to jump in a very unmanly way.

"Spike?" she queried, smiling widely. "Oh, Spike!" She hurried over to him, put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him, then pulled back, still smiling.

Spike jerked back, startled. "Definitely make sure to put this programming into the other one," he told Warren approvingly, looking over Willow's shoulder.

Warren nodded nervously. "Uh?huh, I can do that. Um, but it'll take me a few weeks again." He straightened up, nodding to the box on the table. "I have the stuff though. I can get started right away." He looked pointedly at the two of them, waiting for Spike to take Willow and go.

"Right," Spike sighed, glancing at Willow with a frown. She was still standing there, right in front of him, smiling and waiting for... "What's she waiting for?" he asked Warren.

"Instructions," Warren said absently, hefting the box and starting out of the room.

"Right," Spike said again. "I'll be back, so get crackin' on it, hmm?" Stepping away from Willow, he headed out the door. "Come on, Willow."

"Yes, Spike," she agreed, following him out the door with a smile.

********

"Stop that," Spike snapped in irritation, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

"Stop what, Spike?" Willow asked, her mile-wide grin still firmly in place. She blinked at him innocently a few times, looking extremely interested in what he had to say.

He rolled his eyes at her through the gray and white cloud of smoke floating between them. The dark interior of his crypt held no lights, but he knew she could see him just as well as he could see her. Possibly even better. "Stop staring at me."

She nodded pleasantly, dropping her hands from under her chin to turn her head to the side. "Okay, Spike."

He frowned at her and, realizing he was being petty, snapped again. "Stop that too."

She kept her head turned to the side, glancing his way only with her eyes. "Stop what?"

"Quit calling me 'Spike'," he answered, standing up. Dropping his cigarette to the floor, he stomped on it with another irritated look tossed her way. Heading to the door, he yanked it open.

"What would you like me to call you?" she inquired politely. "The Big Bad? Snuggle Bunny? My Blonde God? Lover?"

Spike snorted with derision. "We're not lovers, pet. Not even friends. And if you call me any of those names, I'll have to deactivate you." He fixed his eyes on her, raising an eyebrow. "Permanently."

"Ooo," she practically purred. "You're very sexy when you do that." She frowned momentarily, turning her head fully his way. "We're not lovers?" She tilted her head in confusion, and then smiled slightly. "Yes, we are."

Spike sighed, ignoring the small amount of satisfaction her empty compliment gave him. "No, we're not. We're not lovers, we're not friends..." he tossed her an annoyed look as he closed the door, "I don't even like you much."

She frowned even more deeply, watching him curiously. "Then why do you make sweet, sweet love to me?" A grin split her face as she rose to her feet. "In many positions?"

"Uh, many positions, huh?" he repeated, looking at her with a little more interest. She looked about ready to pounce on him. He was the predator, and yet, he felt like the prey all of a sudden. "What, uh, what sorts of positions, love?" Realizing what he'd said, he shook his head. "I mean, didn't happen."

"I have memories of you shagging me. Sexing me up. Boning me. We bumped uglies." There was suddenly a whole heck of a lot of desire on her face. She moved closer, her eyes fixed on him. "You make me scream in ecstasy. I get hot when I look at you. I love you, Spike."

"Scream, huh?" he muttered, his eyes dropping to her pink and purple covered chest. It rose and fell in a parody of breathing, pressing her breasts tight against the fuzzy fabric. It was soft; he remembered that much from his drunken musings that night. And her smell was definitely intoxicating. Sweet with a hint of spice, something like cinnamon.

He loved Buffy, but it'd be a few more weeks before Warren would have her ready. If he could use Harmony to satisfy a few of his urges, why not Willow? A robotic version of Willow. He didn't need to like the chit.

She was annoying. Beautiful, yes, but almost as annoying as Harm. He briefly contemplated waiting for his Buffy robot, but shook his head decisively. "What else do you remember, love?"

She stared at the wall behind him for a few seconds, and then her eyes cleared and she focused on him once more. "I remember your hands touching me." She ran her own hands along her sides. "Your mouth pressing soft, but firm kisses on my hot, yielding flesh."

Spike hopped up on his bed casually, trying to pretend he wasn't affected. Scoffing at himself for being turned on by a few words and actions by a woman he wasn't even really attracted to, he shrugged nonchalantly, mentally reminding himself that she wasn't real.

She licked her lips seductively. "Your fingers were inside me. So was your cold, hard male member." Her breathing was slightly more erratic now, mimicking humanity. "I screamed for you as you thrust your cold, hard love muscle inside me and--"

"Okay," he interrupted loudly, shifting a little on the sarcophagus. "That's enough. I get the picture." It made more and more sense to use her to slake his desires. She was willing. He wasn't currently hooked with anyone real and the woman he loved wanted nothing to do with him. Buffy. God, sometimes he really despised her.

Yet still wanted her so much he ached.

"Poor Spike," she whispered softly. "What's the matter? Are you nervous?"

"Uh, no," he answered, frowning as she moved directly in front of him, stopping right between his legs. She settled her hands on his legs, moving her thumbs up and down along the inside of his thighs. "I'm fine. Could you... back off a little?"

Ignoring his attempts to remove her hands, she smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you, Love Bunny." She dropped her head back, closing her eyes.

"Don't ever call me th-- what are you doing?"

Her chest rose and fell as she panted and moaned. A fine sheen of sweat formed on her face and neck. Her hands, still on his thighs, tightened, balling up the material of his jeans. "Take me, Spike. Yes, Spike... faster..." she moaned. "Oh, god, Spike, yes... yes!"

Spike's eyes widened and his own breathing... well, that he was breathing at all was a testimony in and of itself.

All he could think was: Is that what she looked like during sex? Would she lock her arms around him and hold him to her? Wrap her legs around his waist as he moved inside her? Pant her need and desire for him into his ear? Whisper her love to him, kiss him as he thrust-- bloody hell, he needed a woman.

It'd been too long. Harmony had left him for the last time a few months back and he'd been alone since then. Forced to take matters into his own hands... quite literally.

And here was Willow, right in front of him, waiting for him to take her into his arms. She was beautiful and willing and there. Three things he looked for in a woman.

She thought she loved him. Well, she was programmed to love him.

She was so unlike Buffy. All the Slayer had going for her was the beautiful part of the equation. He glanced down into Willow's face, wondering what it'd be like to use her for a little tension reduction. She was Buffy's best friend. And gay. It was almost like forbidden fruit. So tempting.

She was watching him with a smile, her eyes steady on his face. "Don't you want me, Spike?" Her hand slid up his thigh into his crotch, cupping the hardening bulge there. "You do want me." Her smile turned into one of satisfaction, her eyes glittering in the moonlight coming through the window. "I can please you, Spike. I need you." She leaned into him, letting her lips hover in front of his mouth. "Take me. Take me to places I've never been before."

His eyes, fixed on her mouth, just inches from his own, shot up to hers with amusement. "Warren didn't happen to add a few bodice rippers into your programming, did he?"

"Bodice rippers..." she pulled back a little ways, dropping her eyes to his chest. "Romance novels." Sliding her hand along his chest, she smiled at him. "Do you wish me to heave my breasts and toss my flowing red locks over my shoulder as you pick me up in your well-muscled arms? Will you carry me to your soft, but firm, bed, and seduce me with a few well-placed touches of your hands?"

Spike chuckled, resting his forehead against hers. "Sure. Heave away."

"Okay, Spike," she agreed, sliding her hands back down to his thighs. She took one step back and stood before him. Lowering her head to stare at her chest, she breathed in deeply, then out. After a third time, she raised her hand and moved back to where she'd been. "Did that please you, Spike?"

He lifted amused eyes to her face. "Not as much as other things will."

She rested her hands on his thighs once more, looking at him enquiringly. "May I touch you now?"

He tilted his head to the side. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't, love."

"See, you do love me." Her hands pushed him back and she climbed up on the sarcophagus with him, straddling his legs. She settled on his lap, lowering herself onto his jean-covered erection with a moan.

He rested his hands on her hips lightly, holding her still against him for a few seconds, just enjoying the feeling of another body so close to his again after so long. "God, that feels good." His voice was low, but she heard him and rubbed herself back and forth a few times.

"You make me feel good too." She leaned forward, settling her hands on his chest as she rocked against him. "Can we take our clothes off, Spike? I want to feel your smooth, hard flesh and taste your salty, manly skin."

He lifted his head, opening his eyes to glance at her. "We're gonna have to work on your vocabulary."

When she only blinked back at him, he sighed. For the moment, he was fine with their current position, but he did want to feel more skin. See what she tasted like. He wanted her, fully and completely, wanted to be inside a woman again. So, he nodded, lifting her up, helping her crawl off of his lap. She knelt on the coffin as he jumped to the floor and yanked his shirt off.

Tossing it to the floor, he turned to watch her, his hands pausing on the buckle of his belt as he caught sight of her naked back. The white of her bra was the only thing breaking up the pale expanse of her flesh, the skin pulling taut as she moved. Her hands slid around behind her, unhooking the bra and shrugging out of it.

"Do I please you?" she asked, looking over her shoulder, catching his eyes on her. She turned toward him, dropping her arms to her sides. Her breasts were perfect perky mounds of flesh, tipped by hardening nipples. They puckered and tightened as he watched, and he wondered at that. Was she programmed to respond to him? Would a touch make her moan? A kiss?

"You're perfect," he told her, turning back to his belt. That she was a robot did bother him a little. That she was programmed to say and do things in response to him was a little unnerving. But he still wanted her. "I'll have to thank Warren."

"Why will you thank him for how I look?" she asked, pausing in her own undressing.

She didn't know she was a robot? She actually thought she was Willow? "No, uh, no reason. Don't worry about it."

She nodded pleasantly, throwing her tennis shoes to the floor and shimmying out of her jeans. Underwear went next, and again, she was perfect. Not a flaw on her anywhere. Did the real Willow have scars? Or freckles? Maybe a birthmark? The smooth flesh of the robot in front of him was sexy, most definitely, but a little too perfect. He'd have to tell Warren to give Buffy a few scars and freckles. A mole here and there.

He finished stripping off his jeans and crooked his finger at her. "Come down here, pet."

She sat down and jumped off the coffin, striding right up to him. Her naked body was perfect; the stomach taut, breasts perky, thighs toned. Everything about her was... perfect.

He grabbed the blanket off of his chair and spread it out on the floor. "Lay down."

She smiled and did so, lying on her back, propping herself up on her elbows, watching him. One leg lifted up, bent at the knee. Her eyes sparkled at him, her smile turning seductive. Changing to suit his mood.

He knelt at her feet, glancing between her legs briefly as he crawled toward her. She held her breath, her chest rising in anticipation of his touch. Sliding one hand up her calf, he had to reassess his opinion of the feel of her skin. It didn't feel at all fake; it felt quite real in fact. Just like a human's.

She gasped as his hand trailed along her leg, up to her thigh. "Please touch me, Spike." Her head dropped back, her eyes falling shut. Her breath left her on a sigh.

"All in good time, baby," he muttered, watching his hand as he slid it up to her abdomen. His other hand rested on the curve of her hip.

She hitched in a breath, wriggling around on the peach comforter. "You're teasing me," she accused, grinning happily.

He pulled her legs down and crawled up to straddle her waist. Almost as soon as he sat down, Willow looked down at him, her eyes widening.

"You're so very big, Spike," she said approvingly. "Take me now with your manly--"

He held a finger to her lips, pressing lightly to keep her quiet. "Don't... don't talk. All right?"

She nodded, darting her tongue out to lick his finger and suck it into her mouth. His body tightened in response, hardening even more if that was possible.

He took his finger out of her mouth and rolled them over, settling her on him, carefully maneuvering her around his erection. She placed her knees on either side of his thighs and pressed her hands flat against his chest.

"Can--" she darted a look down at him, asking for permission to speak.

He lifted a hand to cup her cheek. Drawing her closer, he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly before nodding.

"Mmm," she moaned, licking her lips. "You taste good. Can I touch you?" Her eager eyes dropped to his lap, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Leaning on his forearms, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes with a nod. If he concentrated hard enough, could he make himself believe it was Buffy there instead of Willow? It'd never worked long with Harmony. She always ended up ruining the fantasy with her whining voice.

Willow's hands slid up to his shoulders, then down again, continuing all the way. He drew in a deep breath as her hand wrapped around the base of his length. She stroked him, tightening gradually as she moved up, running her thumb along the tip. All of this was done with extreme skill, way more skill than Willow probably had.

An emotionless, uncaring robot, programmed to respond to him was giving him a handjob. That took a bit of the fun out of things. As good as it felt to have her hand wrapped around him and stroking him, he wished it was Buffy and, barring that, at least the real Willow.

"Should I heave my breasts again?" she asked, biting her lip in a mockery of the real Willow. Her wide, innocent eyes looked up at him from under her lashes, the hazel orbs widening with desire. Her dark lashes brushed lightly against her skin as she blinked, waiting for his answer.

He dropped back with a groan, watching her watch him. "Heave, thrust, throb all you want," he told her. She was beginning to ruin the fantasy. Every time she opened her mouth, he lost a little more of his ardor for her. Wanting to get it over with before she completely ruined things, he lifted her up in the middle of a particularly large heave of her chest, to position her over himself.

She grinned widely, nodding as she sucked her lip into her mouth. "You want me to ride you. Like I did when you were chained up in the bathtub."

"What?" Just as he started to sit up, she settled herself over him, sliding along his length with extreme slowness. "Oh, god," he moaned, clenching his hands on her hips. The sensations she was creating as she tightened on him were strong and overpowering. Reminded him a bit of Dru.

She stayed sitting on him, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. Her fingers spread out on his chest, clenching and unclenching as she wiggled on his lap. "Does this feel good, Spike?"

He nodded, raising her up a bit. "Faster, love."

She lifted herself, tightening her muscles every inch of the way. When he was almost pulled completely free of her, she slammed down on him. He thrust up at the same time, making them both moan. A rhythmic pace was set up, quick and pleasant. Suiting him just fine.

She threw her head back, just as she had earlier, panting and moaning as she lifted herself on him, clenching her muscles so tightly it was almost painful. A sheen of sweat covered her body and face. She raised her hands, threading them through her hair as she moved on him, licking her lips and panting.

His hands moved from her waist to her back, drawing her down to him. She opened her eyes, focusing on his face as she lowered herself to kiss him. Her tongue thrust forcefully into his mouth, playing along his teeth and sliding across the roof of his mouth.

He pulled back a ways, frowning at her. "Slow down-- oh, god," he moaned, closing his eyes as she bit and sucked on his neck. One of her hands slid behind his neck, holding him still while she sucked on his skin, the other slipped between their bodies, resting on his hip.

She rolled them over, drawing away from his neck as she did so. Baring her own neck to him. He wanted to bite her, more than anything in the world, but he couldn't do it. He'd probably get a mouthful of motor oil or something equally as disgusting. Instead, he thrust into her, reaching around behind him to encourage her to wrap her legs around his waist.

She did so, gasping and panting as he moved inside her. "Oh, Spike," she moaned. "You really are the Big Bad." Her nails scraped down his back so forcefully that he arched into her trying to escape her hands, but rolled his shoulders back for more of the delicious pain.

Reaching a hand up to cup her face, he kissed her thoroughly, then pulled back, threading his hands through her hair. "That's right, baby. I am the Big Bad." Grinning down at her, he quickened his pace, caressing her breasts, which were swaying so enticingly in front of his face. The nipples tightened even more, puckering into perfect buds. He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, biting the flesh lightly.

She squealed in delight, tightening around him. "Yes, Spike... oh, yes," she screamed, arching into him.

He halted for a moment, watching her face. Her eyes were closed tightly, her mouth open, gasping for air. Her skin was flushed red, and slicked with sweat. The hair by her temples was damp, slicked back from him running his fingers through it.

As he watched, she relaxed, still panting, though the muscles underneath him went soft. He began moving again, speeding up his pace to find his own release. Resting his weight on his arms, he slid into her with long, sure strokes. She kept her legs wrapped around him, stroking his back softly as he moved, running her hands over the muscles moving underneath his skin.

"I love you, Spike," she said contentedly, sliding one hand down along his arm.

Hearing the words, even though they didn't come from the woman he wanted them to come from, sent him over the edge. He thrust into her once more and then again, his whole body stiffening as he came. His hips bucked against hers, but her legs, still around his waist, held him still.

He collapsed on top of her with a groan. She continued to smooth her hand down his back and arm.

He laid on her, enjoying the feeling of a woman underneath him, the softness of her breasts and stomach. The curve of her legs entwined with his. Her chest rose up and down, lifting him as she breathed. Something--oil?--moved beneath her skin in a parody of blood in her veins. He lifted himself up, rolling to the side with a sigh.

"Do you want me to start the program over?" she asked pleasantly.

Spike frowned at her, running his hand down her stomach. "Don't say that. Just... be Willow." The muscles under his hand bunched and tightened as he touched her, but they weren't muscles. They were wires and tubes. And she wasn't human. Wasn't even alive.

He removed his hand from her stomach and dropped his arm over his eyes. He'd just had sex with a robot version of Buffy's best friend.

He was lower than low.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stay there," Spike told Willow, starting to shut the trap door on her loving smile. Jerking it open again, he added, "And don't come up unless I say it's okay. For any reason. Got it?"

Willow nodded, smiling a little in confusion. "Where are you going, Spike? Why can't I come with you?"

"Uh," he tried to think of a convincing lie, then wondered why the hell he was bothering. "I'm going to the Bronze. I need a beer or ten. Stay here. And keep quiet."

She nodded eagerly. "Anything for you, my Blonde God." She bent down to keep him in sight as he started to shut the door, the lantern light behind her keeping her mostly in shadows. "Come back for me soon so we can make love over and over again."

"Right," he agreed, slamming the door shut. He stood up, dusting off his jeans and headed out the door into the cool night. "She calls me that again, I'm definitely deactivating her."

The cemetery was dark, no moon lighting his way. No streetlights to blind him as he passed beneath them. And no Slayer to beat him up for annoying her. That was a good thing though, right?

Although, at times, it did turn him on more than off. Still, it got to be old hat sometimes. Leaving his cemetery behind, he headed for the Bronze, making sure he had money enough to pay for a few beers. Dusting vamps had its perks.

The streets were rather quiet, almost too quiet. It made him a bit nervous. His skin started to crawl, his hair rising on the back of his neck. Something was going down tonight. Shrugging his shoulders back to loosen the tight muscles, he continued on his way to the Bronze. Whatever was going on, he wasn't a part of it, and didn't care. Even if Buffy was up against something big. Something bad.

Glory.

Growling in annoyance and disgust at himself, he ran back the way he'd come, turning left instead of right at the corner of Wilshire. The Magic Box was the most likely place to find information, so he headed there. The lights of the main street in downtown Sunnydale were as brightly lit as a haunted house. No wonder this place was a demon magnet, he thought darkly, the Hellmouth probably only played a small part in it. Dark streets and ignorant people played the bigger part. He'd certainly found it a big help to snack on the populace when he was still able to.

Rounding the corner at a dead run, he went right past the Espresso Pump and straight up to the Magic Box. Lights were on inside, big surprise. Stopping outside the door, he didn't take the time to look inside before yanking the door open and going in.

No one tossed insults at him. Dawn didn't greet him happily, not that she would anyway given her mum's death and all. But she usually at least had a 'hello' for him. Someone always groaned when he came in, someone always tossed insults his way, and Anya always looked up hopefully from behind the counter, expecting rich, paying customers. At the moment though, the store was empty except for one person, and she was the last person he wanted to see right now.

She looked up from behind the register, biting her lip guiltily. Her hands grabbed something from the counter, sticking whatever it was on a shelf in front of her. She frowned, staring at the door behind him. "I thought I locked that." Her eyes found his, her brows raising innocently. "Uh, hi."

He grinned at her, knowing full well what she was doing. "Stealing supplies again? Didn't we learn our lesson the last time? Big ogre. Lots of damage."

"No," she denied, shaking her head for extra measure. "No, I'm not... well, yes I am, but I'm fully planning on paying for them. Uh, you know, sometime not tonight."

"Right," he agreed. They both knew she had no intention of paying for her things. Glancing around idly, he looked up at the second level. "Where's, uh--"

"She's on a quest," Willow interrupted, hefting her five-fingered items back up on the counter. "Won't be back for hours probably." A jar of what looked like pickled eggs was set on the counter by the cash register. She turned the jar, leaning down to peer into the murky liquid as she scribbled on a pad in beside the jar.

"Oh. Then no nasties tonight, huh? No Glory?" He hopped up on the counter, hefting the jar in his hands as he settled comfortably beside the cash register. The liquid inside sloshed as he tossed it lightly into the air. "I was looking for a bit of a fight. Something to occupy me for a bit."

"Hey! Hey!" She watched him anxiously. After the third toss, she reached out and caught the jar, yanking it from him in irritation. "Give me that."

He sighed, thoroughly bored with the world at the moment. "Nothing on the agenda then?" Tapping a beat on the counter, he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

She glanced up momentarily before going back to peering at the jar. Not telling him how sexy he was when he raised his eyebrow. The minute disappointment was gone almost before it appeared.

"Nope. Tara's watching Dawn. Xander and Anya are patrolling, and I'm--"

"Stealing from Giles," he said with a grin.

She snorted, all defensive-like, acting the little innocent. "I'm steal-- taking these pickled Lornack eyes for a reason, thank you very much." She pulled a spell book from the shelf below. Opening the book to a marked page, she scribbled on her paper some more.

"That reason being...?" He leaned over to read what she was writing, squinting at her small, flowing script. "Maybe I can help. What do you need a--" he raised his eyes to her face, widening them in surprise. "Condom?" he laughed. "What sort of spell is it we're doing exactly?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. "Because, I'd be glad to offer my services."

"Keep your services to yourself," she told him, barely lifting her eyes to him in irritation. "It says condor. Specifically a condor's feather."

He shrugged, glancing at the paper. "Looked like condom to me. Don't blame me if you're writing is illegible," he protested, holding a hand to his chest as his eyes dropped to hers.

She set the pad and pencil down with a sigh, turning more fully to him. "Do you... need something? Is this a--"

"Do you have any birthmarks?" he asked curiously, looking up from his perusal of her chest to find her watching him suspiciously. His eyes slid back down to her naked neck, enjoying the view. The bot was so close in design to this Willow's flesh, the color was right. The pale shade was dead on. But the real Willow had freckles. Lots of them, spread all over her chest, neck, and shoulders, pale and almost indiscernible, but there. Maybe he'd take his bot back to Warren and have him add those in.

Though why bother? He'd have his Buffy bot soon enough.

She backed away slightly, widening her eyes at him suspiciously. "What? Why?" Her hand shot out to the counter, picking up her pencil and holding it aloft threateningly. "Is it still working?" she asked, her voice only shaking a little. "The chip. Does the chip still work?"

He hopped down from the counter, moving away to give her room to feel safe. And to help him feel safe from the pencil in case she got trigger happy. "Every minute of every day."

"Oh." She moved closer to the counter again, staying firmly behind it. "Oh, good. That's-- that's good."

"Mm," was his only reply. He noticed she hadn't dropped the pencil yet. She was cautious, careful. Good. She should stay that way around him. He wasn't safe, he wasn't her friend, or-- anything. Deciding that now was a good time to leave, he turned on his heel and came face to face with one of the ugliest little trolls he'd ever seen. "What the hell is this?" he asked, moving closer to it. He grabbed it by its fluffy hair and lifted it to face level. The troll's beady little eyes stared back at him with a secretive smile, fully of... happy-thoughts.

"Um, oh," Willow said, coming around the counter to grab the doll from him. Her voice and face held a little embarrassment. She stroked the doll's bushy pink hair back, smoothing it away from the ugly brown face. "That's Freddy, um, it was mine. A-- a long time ago. When I was little. I was going to give it to Dawn. She's been kind of... well, you know, since Joyce..."

He nodded, taking the doll from her to look into its eternally happy face. "That thing is going to give her nightmares."

She chuckled, moving back to her books and pickled demon eyes. "Spike, she's the Slayer's sister. She's seen worse things than a troll doll." She lifted her eyes to him, gesturing in his general direction. "You, for instance."

"Me, right," he scoffed, waving a hand in dismissal. "Please. Oh, wait." Now that he thought about it, she'd just complimented him. "Yeah." He grinned, nodding happily. "You're right. I am worse than that thi-- not as ugly, but just as scary. Thanks, love."

She frowned, raising an eyebrow at him. "That wasn't actually a compli--"

He looked over at her from under his brows.

"Um, you're welcome." She smiled nervously, half watching him, half reading her spell book.

His eyes stayed on her long after she'd finished talking. She was beautiful. A gorgeous creature with so many possibilities to her. Her hair, redder than he'd ever seen it, was shorter than he liked, but a nice color and style. He preferred the color and style the bot had, but this was good too.

Realizing she was talking to him, he snapped his attention back to her. "What?"

"...here, Spike?" she was saying.

"What?" he repeated, frowning at the annoyed look she tossed him. "You got a bloody date? You can't spare five minutes of your time?" It infuriated him that that's all he was to these people anymore. A nuisance. He was a bloody evil vampire, feared throughout the world, and with good reason. What right did these puny humans have to be annoyed by his presence? Like he wasn't worthy of their time. It was the other way around. They weren't worthy of him.

And why was he even here anyway?

"No. No, it's not that. I just... well you're acting really weird. Staring. And-- and with the birthmark, and the fact that you're here at all." She sighed and closed the book, setting the pencil beside it. "You don't hang around me. Ever."

"So something has to be up for me to be near you?" he asked with a snort, knowing she was right. The most time he'd ever spent with her was when he wanted her to cast a spell. Or when he'd been actively trying to kill her. Or turn her. Of course, she wasn't going to stay dead long if he had a hand in it. "I just came to see how the little one was."

"Dawn," she said suspiciously. "You came all the way to the Magic Box to ask how Dawn is." She rolled her eyes, talking to him like he was ten. "And did you not think to go to--"

"What? Buffy's house?" he interrupted, stalking closer to the counter. "I don't seem to be welcome there anymore. A little witch uninvited me."

"Oh, boo hoo," she said scornfully. "You're evil. Right?"

He nodded, fighting the impulse to jump over the counter and tear her throat out. Or yank her over it. Either way worked for him.

"Well there's your reason right there. Get over it." Tearing the piece of paper from her pad, she folded it and stuck it into her back pocket. She grabbed a bag, shaking it open wide enough to slide her jar inside. A few more items followed, mostly small jars of herbs, a few claws and one condor feather.

He watched her silently, trying to figure out the best way to kill her without setting off the chip. Hiring someone else to do the deed was the best way, but he wanted her undead. Not dead-dead. So, maybe if he--

"Buffy has too much on her mind right now to deal with you too." Willow looked straight at him, waiting until she had his full attention before continuing. "So maybe you could just... leave her alone for a while." She grinned, chuckling as she grabbed her bag from the counter. "I'd say forever, but I don't see that happening."

She was right on both counts. Buffy did have a lot going on at the moment. And he was only adding to it. But he couldn't help himself. She was the flame and he was the bloody moth, trapped by her heat and her beauty. He couldn't resist her if he tried. And he had certainly tried. In every possible way, at every possible turn.

"Right," he agreed as she grabbed the other bag from the counter. He followed her to the door, inhaling subtly. She smelled so feminine. Like fruity things, with a hint of spice. Apples, he realized. Apples and cinnamon. Leaning closer to her as she reached for the light switch, he inhaled again. He'd have to get his robot some of that-- what was it? Not perfume. Soap, shampoo? "So what's the spell for?" he asked, trying to think of the best way to ask her how she got to smelling so good.

"Damn it," she said, setting both bags on the floor. She flicked off the far lights. "Could you, um," she tossed a look behind her at the counter. "Could you grab Freddy? Please?"

Heaving a heavy sigh, he went back and picked up the ugly little troll. Rolling his eyes, he shoved it into his pocket. "The spell?" he reminded her once they were outside. A whiff of cinnamon hit his nose and he moved closer, right behind her as she set her bags back down. Closing his eyes, he inhaled, letting the smell surround him. The heat from her body drifted toward him, and he caught his hands just before they settled on her shoulders.

She looked over her shoulder at him, frowning at his close proximity. "A little room here, Spike? Are you-- did you just sniff me?" she asked in a high voice.

What the hell was he doing? Stalking a few feet away, he shook himself, trying to rid his mind of her intoxicating smell and the feel of her warmth. "Oh, right. That's what I'm doing, sniffing you." He rolled his eyes for good measure, hoping she bought his lies. "So, the spell?"

She turned from locking the door and stuck her keys in her pocket, avoiding looking his way. "Um, just a little thing. Not really important to anything." She darted a look up. "It's personal."

"Personal," he mused, taking in her flushed cheeks and hastily turned away eyes. His smile spread across his face, and he made no move to stop it. "You sure that wasn't condoms on the list?" he chuckled.

"I'm sure," she said seriously. "And don't you go telling Tara it was. Or anyone else for that matter. In fact, don't say anything about it. Ever. To anyone." Grabbing her bags from the sidewalk, she stomped past.

"Oh ho, Willow's got a secret," he said softly, hurrying to catch up with her. "Well now you've got my curiosity all piqued. You can't just say something like that and expect me to leave it alone."

"Can too." Her voice was all grumpy and irritated sounding. Again. Apparently, she really didn't like him. "And, look, just did."

"Mm," he agreed, stopping to light a cigarette. She continued walking without him, unaware of his eyes watching her every move. The sway of her hair. The curve of her hips. The bot was very close in shape, but he thought maybe the height was off just a bit. Willow was taller than the bot.

Drawing smoke into his lungs, he squinted through the haze of gray and shoved his pack back into his pocket. Instead of following her like he'd intended, badgering her for answers, he decided to go see Warren. Make a few adjustments. See if he couldn't figure out how to get his robot smelling like the real Willow.

********

Spike knocked on the door to Warren's house, glancing at his Willow bot as he waited. She was standing straight, her hands by her sides, a pleasantly expectant smile on her lips. She looked like she was readying herself for dinner with his parents.

He sighed lightly. "Relax, don't look so... robot-like."

She smiled in confusion. "Why would I look like a robot? I'm not--"

The door opened, halting the rest of her words. They both turned to see Warren's mum standing there. "Hello. Oh. You're a friend of Warren's, right?" she asked, taking in Spike's appearance with a slightly disapproving look.

"Yeah," Spike answered, "friends. We'll just--" he tried to go inside, knowing the way to Warren's basement laboratory, but his mum stepped in his way.

"I'm afraid he's not here," she said with no remorse whatsoever. "He's gone back to school." She smiled stiffly and attempted to shut the door.

"But, he has to be here," Willow said in desperation, frowning at the woman. "He's going to help me."

Spike groaned as Warren's mum fixed her eyes on the robot. "She didn't mean--" he squeezed Willow's hand, warning her to be quiet.

"Help you how?" the woman asked, her tone turning more disapproving by the second. "If you expect my son to... give you drugs, or-- or--"

"No," Willow interrupted, squeezing Spike's hand back, practically crushing his bones, "he's going to make me--"

"She's... uh, on meds," Spike told the older lady, smiling a bit, trying to smooth over the situation at the same time as he cursed himself for bothering. He needed information from the bastard's mother and he couldn't get that if he killed her. Or set Willow to killing her. "Could you give me his number so I can ring him?"

"No," she told him, shaking her head. "I don't know you, and I don't know what you want him for."

"He has... something of mine," Spike ground out, resisting the urge to vamp out and snack a bit. "I'd like to get it back."

"Oh," she said suddenly, looking to something out of sight of the door. She bent down and picked up a box, taped shut several times over. His box, full of his... Willow-stuff. "Is this yours then?" She peered at the box, turning it sideways trying to read something. "Are you Sp--" she glanced up with a frown. "Spike?"

"Yes, he is," Willow said happily. "He's Spike. My Blonde God."

He exhaled loudly, turning a warning look Willow's way. "Not now, love. The nice lady doesn't care to hear about that." Shaking his head at the situation he was in, he glanced at Warren's mum. "Yes, I'm Spike. That's my stuff. But he also--"

She handed him the box, practically tossing it at him, like it was contaminated. "That's yours then. Goodbye." She shut the door in their faces, and turned a few locks.

Spike glared at the door for a minute wondering where the hell Warren had gone. He'd left without making his Buffy robot. "Bloody... god damn... bastard," he finally ground out, turning on his heel and heading back to his crypt. He shoved the box of stuff into Willow's arms and ran his hands through his hair in irritation.

Willow followed along beside him silently, her eyes on him most of the time, but also on the surrounding darkness. "A vampire is coming," she told him. "Do you want me to use my unreliable magick on it?"

Spike snorted with laughter. Whoever had given Warren the specs for Willow had definitely done their homework. Sliding a stake from his pocket, he stepped in front of Willow, idly wondering if she really could do magick.

A vampire turned the corner, strolling unhurriedly down the street toward them, human guise in place.

"Hey," the vampire said as he passed by, nodding pleasantly. "Dinner time, eh?" He laughed, eyeing Willow with a smirk. "Have fun."

Spike watched the vampire, waiting to see if he'd make a move against them, but he simply continued on his way down the street.

"Why didn't he try to eat me?" she asked, also watching the vampire disappear. "Am I not appetizing enough?" Her lips pursed into a pout, her eyes dropping to the sidewalk.

"You're very appetizing," he assured her, feeling a sense of deja vu. She seemed to be acting more Willow-like. She'd even rambled on their way to Warren's. Had someone--the person or thing that'd made him get her--made adjustments to her?

********

Willow set her bags gently on the floor of her bedroom, looking around curiously. It'd been a few months since she'd been here. Her parents were obviously dusting and that was about it. Nothing was out of place, not even a pencil in the cup on her desk. A pile of folded up clothes sat on top of her dresser. A book on her night stand.

It looked like she'd just left this morning instead of months ago.

Sighing, she closed the door with a quiet click. Spike's odd behavior from earlier was forgotten as she set her mind to doing her spell. She needed answers and those could only come from another spell. Taking each item from the bags, she lined them up on the floor in front of her and then grabbed her stash of candles from under the bed. Emergency candle supplies; she was probably the only girl in America who hid her candles and Marjoram.

A smile tilted her lips but was quickly gone again. Setting up her supplies and marking her circle with the candles only took a few minutes. It was the rest that would be the hard part.

Pulling the ceremonial bowl nearer to her, she slowly opened the jar of Lornack eyes. Staring inside the wide-mouthed jar at the huge, golf ball-sized eyes she wished she'd been insightful enough to bring a spoon or something to scoop one out. 'Cause this was grossness in the extreme.

Closing her eyes, she turned her head to the side, gagging at the smell wafting up from the jar, and slipped her hand inside. "Oh, ew," she whispered, feeling the cold, slimy water envelop her hand.

An eyeball touched the backs of her fingers and she squealed in disgust, yanking her hand free. Water flew across the room, dripping down the wall and door, it soaked from her hand into her jeans as she stared at the jar, willing herself to try again.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she plunged her hand inside and wrapped her fingers around an eye. "Oh, god, oh, gross, ew, ew, ew." Holding the slimy eye in her hand, she pulled her hand free of the jar and almost dropped the eye in her haste to get rid of it. Flinging it into the bowl, cringing at the wet plunking sound it made when it plopped into the bowl, she frantically wiped her hands on her wet jeans.

She shuddered in disgust and shook her whole body as a shiver of revulsion swept through her. "Eugh! So, so gross!"

If it wasn't necessary for her to do the spell, she would be in the shower, scrubbing her hands and thighs. Everywhere the water and eyeball had touched. Just thinking about it was freaking her out. Needing to calm down, she wiped her hands dry on her jeans and picked up the jar of sea salt.

Climbing to her feet, she walked clockwise, drawing her circle. She pushed the stopper back into the jar and set it aside, kneeling toward the north, closing her eyes and focusing her breathing. In and out, slowly, purposely. She concentrated on her questions and calmed enough to start her spell.

Taking her silver athame with her, she climbed to her feet again and pointed it toward the north, walking clockwise around the circle three times.

With the way her spells had been going lately, she was taking no chances. This spell was being done by the book. Crossing all the t's and dotting all the i's. By the letter.

Digging her lighter out of her jean pocket, she knelt before the bowl, avoiding looking at the wet, slimy eyeball as much as possible as she lit the candles she'd placed around the bowl. Yellow candlelight filled the room, casting a pale glow around her and the items of her circle.

The sea salt began to shimmer as she added herbs to the bowl. A pinch of this, a twig of that. The claws were placed around the eye, four of them to represent the elements. The last item, the condor feather, was placed on top of the bowl. Resisting the urge to smirk at Spike's insistence that it was a condom, she sat back on her heels and closed her eyes.

Her hands raised from her thighs to hover over the bowl as she silently asked for protection.

"Goddess Diana, I bring an offering in return for answers. An eye of Lornack." She bowed her head in supplication, lowering her hands to the floor beside the bowl and waiting.

Time passed as she slipped into a trance. Minutes, possibly hours went by. The shimmering sand faded to a slight blue glow. The smell permeating the room faded. Darkness enveloped her.

"What do you ask of me?" a voice whispered in her mind.

Willow's eyes opened slowly, her head rising in search of the owner of the voice. A disembodied head floated in front of her, lighting the darkness of the... wherever she was. Glancing quickly around, she saw only blackness and the glowing head. Nervousness shot through her.

This could be bad. She hadn't had much experience with actually speaking to Goddesses and now she was here with one. Somewhere. Licking her dry lips, she lowered her head respectfully. "I seek answers to--"

The woman in front of her smiled. "You wish to know why you no longer find happiness with your lover."

Willow swallowed and nodded jerkily. Hearing someone else say it when she'd barely admitted it to herself was scary. It made things real, more than just her imagination. "Yes," she said softly, needing answers. Needing to know why she couldn't seem to be happy with Tara anymore. Something had happened and she suspected it was associated with the spell they'd done a few weeks back, asking for the full extent of their happiness to come through in all things. "Was it the spell we did? Did I--" she cleared her throat, dropping her eyes from the glowing face. "Did I do something wrong?"

She heard the smile in Diana's voice, though she kept her head down. "No. Your happiness lies elsewhere."

"But-- no," Willow disagreed, lifting her head and looking directly at Diana. "I love Tara. She's what makes me happy... or she used to before that stupid spell. It's her I want to be happy with. Not someone else."

Diana's smile faded, her eyes turning black. "You asked for happiness, we gave you happiness. Now you ask for it back?"

Fear shot through Willow. This wasn't Diana's good side anymore. She'd pissed her off, and the look Diana was giving her was frightening. "N-- no," she rushed to assure the Goddess. "I accept my gift. Thank you." Bowing her head, she closed her eyes and lifted the bowl as her offering. When nothing happened, she slowly opened her eyes.

Back in her room. Safely ensconced in her girlhood bedroom with an empty bowl and some burned down candles. Ugh, and some really stinky Lornack eyes in the open jar.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, she had her answers. Apparently she wasn't meant to find happiness with Tara anymore. Too bad, she thought, kicking at a rock as she entered the cemetery gates, I'm going to be happy with Tara anyway. "So there," she muttered.

Clutching tighter to her stake, she paid more attention to her surroundings, listening for sounds of something coming. This stupid shortcut back to campus was the dumbest possible move the city could've made. She was halfway convinced the city planners were all vampires; everything seemed to favor them in someway.

Noises up to her left drew her attention from her ruminating thoughts. Thinking at night got ya dead. She needed to pay more attention to where she was and what she was doing.

Crunching leaves and breaking twigs sounded, drawing closer. She was undecided. Leave and increase her odds of living, or stay and fight, decreasing her odds of living?

As the sounds grew louder, the decision was taken out of her hands. Two figures came toward her in the darkness, a man and a woman. Familiar figures. Thank God.

"Xander, Anya," she called, waving to them and moving closer. "You scared me. The bejesus? It's gone. Yep, right out of me."

Xander chuckled. "Willow mine? Why are you out here alone with no super power backing you up?"

Anya scoffed at Xander, dropping his hand to turn to him. "I wanted super powers backing us up too, but you said we were fine. I want super powers, or I want to go home." She paused, frowning for a second, but then her face cleared. "Buffy's gone, so let's go home."

"Nice try, Anya," Xander laughed. "We're taking up the slack Buffy left behind by questing, remember?"

Willow laughed at the frustrated look that crossed Anya's face.

"Spike," Anya said suddenly. "He's strong. I've seen his arms, they're all muscular and--"

"Hey," Xander interrupted, holding his hand up for silence. "When did you see Spike's arms and why do you care what his arms look like?"

"He lived in your basement, Xander," Anya sighed, hugging his arm to her. "He was always there and sometimes he had his shirt off." She smiled, squeezing his biceps. "I like your arms too."

Willow clamped her mouth shut tight to keep from saying anything. A smirk was trying so hard to make it to her lips, but she refused to let it. Xander was irritated enough, he didn't need her riding him too. "Uh, so... you go do that then, and I'll go..." she giggled, trying to cover it up by clearing her throat. "I'll go help Tara with Dawn."

"Oh, no you don't," Xander said loudly, grabbing her arm and swinging her back around. "You're helping. In fact," he said with relish, seeing her snickering, "you're going to go get him."

"Me?" she asked, her eyes widening on Xander and Anya's smirking faces. "But, why me? You're the two who are patrolling. I'm just..." she moved her hands in a slope in front of her, "passing through. To protect Dawn. I need to help protect Dawn."

"Nice try," Anya said, echoing Xander's words from earlier. She grabbed Willow's other arm and together she and Xander dragged Willow along with them toward Spike's crypt.

Since he lived in this very cemetery, the walk was a short one. Two minutes. Two minutes of her trying to talk them out of this. "Guys, guys, come on, really, I don't like Spike... a whole lot, uh, at all," she admitted, keeping to herself the part where she was afraid of him. He just made her really nervous and jittery. "I don't talk to Spike, you know, at all, and when I do it's 'cause I'm trying to talk him out of killing me. Not a conversation conducive to getting to know someone. So I'm not the right person to talk to him... about anything. He's, you know, a vampire, what could I possibly have to say to make him do anything?" she asked, looking from one silent face to the other. "I'll tell you what. Nothing, that's what. He makes me nervous and babble-y. I don't want to--"

Xander pushed her in front of Spike's crypt and held her there while he knocked on the door. Loudly and with a lot of force. He was sure to hear it. More than likely so had a zillion other creatures in the cemetery.

Xander and Anya walked a few yards away, watching her to make sure she didn't run off. Well, fine.

"Uh, Spike..." she called softly. Clearing her throat, she raised her voice a little. "Spike, it's-- it's me, Willow. I was... um, could I--" hearing groaning coming from inside, she leaned closer to the door, listening. Was he hurt?

"Oh, god-- come in."

He had to be hurt, she thought. Turning the handle on the door, she shoved it open and hurried inside. Her eyes scanned the candle-lit interior for him. Why else would he sound so-- "Oh, my god!" she gasped, closing her eyes and turning away, covering her eyes with her hands for good measure.

"Willow!" he ground out, sounding way more than just angry. "What the hell, don't you guys knock?" She heard a lot of rustling around, and feet scuffling. Naked feet to go along with naked Spike.

"I knocked," she said quickly. "Well, Xander knocked and I called, and you said come... oh." Realization hit her. He hadn't been inviting her in. He'd been-- oh, boy. Laughter bubbled up.

"What the bloody hell is so funny?" he asked in irritation.

You, she wanted to say. Naked you doing sex things with-- was anyone there with him? Resisting the urge to turn around and look, she kept her eyes tightly closed and headed toward the door, peeking quickly so she wouldn't smack into the wall, knocking herself out. That would be the perfect ending to the worst night of... this month.

"Spike, who's--" a woman started to ask.

"Shh. Willow," he said quickly, "don't uh... don't-- just stay there, damn it." She halted in her tracks, wondering why on Earth he wanted her to remain there. "And be quiet."

"I didn't say anything," she scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. He didn't have to be such a jerk. It wasn't her fault she'd walked in on him and... whoever she was. Curiosity was eating away at her, but she refused to turn around, that would make for an awkward introduction.

Not to mention seeing more naked Spike. Although... her head was turning and her eyes were opening to get another gander at him before she realized it. Snapping them shut again, she turned back around.

No ogling Spike! Even if he was completely ogle-able... or something.

"Um, ya know what?" she called loudly, "I'm s-- sorry. I'm sorry. I'll just--" she pointed to the door and started heading that way again. She had to get out of there right now because her hormones were going nuts. For some reason she was hyper-aware of him and growing way more aware than she needed to be by the second.

"Stay there," she heard him say, but she wasn't sure who he was talking to this time. So she remained still. Shuffling footsteps sounded behind her as he moved from behind the end of the sarcophagus. The woman, who had to be kneeling or sitting on the floor by where he'd been standing, didn't move or say anything.

A tiny twinge of... something unidentifiable slithered through her, making her shift uncomfortably. Who was Spike having sex with? Well, she assumed they were having sex, at the moment he'd only been getting... um, oral sex and-- wow, why did that make her want to squirm?

She heard cloth moving against skin and tried very hard not to imagine Spike stepping into a tight pair of jeans. His well-muscled arms, just like Anya had said, would pull the material up, encasing those trim hips she'd gotten only a glimpse of and-- Tara. Think Tara. That was safe. Sweet, loving, caring Tara who's soft pale body was... okay, not so great an alternate train of thought.

No more naked thoughts. Bad, bad, bad. Better to think of everyone clothed, much better.

A zipper sounded, followed closely by a jangling belt being buckled. If she groaned, would he hear it? she wondered.

"Spike," the woman tried again, and Willow was sure she knew that voice, but she couldn't place it.

"Quiet," he warned. Willow heard boots ringing on the stone floor and then a whispered conversation. "Stay here, no matter what," he told the woman. "Just like before, okay?"

"Ye--" the woman began, once again cut off by Spike.

"No," he told her. "Shh." A kiss followed, and Willow blushed, not entirely comfortable with witnessing such an intimate moment, even if her back was turned and her eyes... well, they were now wide open, but turned away.

"Come on," Spike told her, grabbing her arm and yanking her out the door. Slamming the door shut behind him, he slipped his duster on and then hauled her toward the others. "What do you want?" he asked rudely, digging through his pockets and pulling out his cigarettes.

Xander moved forward, frowning at Spike's rough treatment of her. "Hey," he said harshly, waving his stake in front of him, "hands off her, Fang."

"What did you do?" Anya asked Willow. "He's angry. Now he won't help us." She scowled at Willow, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I-- I didn't do anything," she protested, glaring at Anya. Why did Anya always have to accuse people of trying to ruin her precious time, her precious night? Other people lived in this world too. "It's your fault. You and Xander made me go talk to him. So, blame yourselves."

Spike sucked a huge amount of smoke into his lungs with a long, drawn out sigh. "I don't care whose fault it is. What the hell do you want?"

"You," Xander answered, "to help us patrol while Buffy's gone. And don't bother asking where she is, 'cause I won't--"

"On a quest," Spike said, his tone bored. "Why should I help you?"

"Because you'd be helping Buffy," Willow said softly, darting a look in his direction.

He nodded, tossing a glance over his shoulder at his crypt. "Great. Fine. Lead on then," he told them, motioning to the darkness. "Let's get this done with... I've got things to do."

More like people to do, Willow thought testily. "Okay then..." she told Xander, clapping her hands together quietly. "I've done my part, I'll just be--"

"What?" Spike demanded, yanking his cigarette from his mouth. He eyed her speculatively, shaking his head with a scoff. "Oh, no, you don't. If I go, you go. You roped me into this."

Willow shook her head, desperately wanting to get away from them now. She'd seen way more than she needed to tonight, she couldn't now spend time with him after... seeing all that stuff. Heck, it still made her blush when she and Tara did things together.

Well, mostly it made her feel really, really good, but there was also the embarrassment.

"I-- I don't... but, Xander." She turned to her best friend. Her biggest bestest friend in the whole world aside from Buffy, imploring him to help extricate her from going. "Tell him."

Xander shrugged, taking Anya's hand and pulling her along with him. "Sorry, Will. Looks like you're coming."

"Well now, wouldn't that be fun?" Spike drawled, eyeing her like a big ole pastry puff as he took a drag off his cigarette.

"Yeah," Xander enthused, looking back over his shoulder. "It'll be fun! Just like the old days, only less with the Buffy and more with the Spike."

Anya smiled encouragingly at her, pointing to the left. "You two go that way, we'll go..." she looked around and gestured to a tree-filled part of the cemetery, "that way. We'll go that way."

Willow narrowed her eyes at Anya. "You just wanna make out," she accused, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, no," Anya denied, "we're looking for evil things. You know, go good guys," she enthused, then grabbed Xander's arm and practically dragged him away with her. "Come on," she said impatiently when he stopped to look over his shoulder at her.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked Willow, tossing Spike a look that said he didn't trust him.

"No," she practically pouted, angry at being roped into this whole thing. All she'd wanted to do tonight was find out what went wrong with her spell, and maybe cuddle a little with Tara. Not get caught stealing from Giles, be forced to deal with Spike, do the spell, be forced to talk Spike into joining patrol and then be forced to patrol _with_ Spike. Argh!

"Will..." Xander said, coming back toward them, pulling his arm free of Anya's tight grip. "If you want, we'll patrol together, or I could go with him and you go with Anya."

Willow took one look at Anya and knew by the furious scowl on her face that she didn't want to be anywhere near her. And Spike was looking equally angry. Xander wasn't happy and-- "Go," she said with a sigh, dropping her defensive stance. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Xander asked, not making a move to go yet.

"She's sure, Xander, come on," Anya said with a stomp of her foot, moving forward to drag him with her again.

"She's fine with me," Spike finally said, annoyance just radiating from him. Though he also looked relieved that he wasn't going to be forced to deal with Xander.

Good, everyone was happy and there was all around goodness, except for her. Sigh.

"Okay." Xander glared hard at Spike and did the threatening thing. "Hurt her and I'll blah blah blah, you know the deal by now."

"Yes," Spike agreed with a growl, "I do."

"Good. Then you won't hurt her or let her get hurt," Xander said evenly. "We'll meet at the gates. See ya, Willow. Be careful."

"I will," she mumbled, rolling her eyes at the order. Like she was going to purposely be careless and get herself killed. That was a heck of a plan.

"Oh, and hey, I'll be careful too," Spike called loudly, laughing at the finger Xander tossed back at him. "Thanks for the concern!"

"Great," Willow muttered, watching Xander and Anya walk off and leave her there with the king of smirking. Who was now smirking at her. "What are you looking at?" she griped, striding past him.

"Aw," he teased spitefully, following after her, "pout-y little witch. Forced to be in the company of the Big Bad."

"Big Bad," she snorted, rolling her eyes at him. "When you have to give yourself a title, you're lame. I was a geeky nerd in school and I'm still cooler than you'll ever be, Spike."

"Heart, arrow, ouch," he retorted sarcastically, tossing his cigarette to the grass. "You've gotten a girlfriend, gotten a little bit better at magick--a little," he specified, "and it's been another year, but you're still the same highschool loser you were two years ago."

She stopped walking and grabbed his arm, turning to face him. "That isn't going to work on me again, Spike." Glancing in the direction Xander and Anya were heading, she said, "It _has_ been a year and I get that you need to make others feel lower than you to boost yourself up into a big manly guy-type... thing, but--"

Spike snorted, his body shaking with laughter, his eyes amused as they landed on her. "You just have this amazing way with words, love."

"But," she said louder, talking over him, "I'm on to you, pal. Yeah, that's right, so don't expect sad faces and moping this time."

"Aw shucks," he sighed dramatically, swinging his arm as he snapped his fingers. "There goes my entire evil plan." Rolling his eyes, he started after the others.

She didn't get it. She'd expected anger from him, possibly embarrassment, which is one reason she hadn't wanted to come along, but what she hadn't expected was this teasing mood he seemed to be in. What was going on in that mind of his? Did sex put vampires in a better mood too?

Hmm. Strolling along behind him, she studied his back, wishing she had enough courage to ask him the questions swimming around in her mind. Like, who was the woman in his crypt-- oh, my god! She stopped, turning around to gape at his crypt in the distance. She knew the voice, and since she didn't know too many women, it had to be...

"It's not Buffy," Spike tossed over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around and face her.

She spared one last look toward his home and then hurried after him. "How'd you know I was thinking that?"

"Body language. Breathing." He glanced sideways at her. "You're like an open book."

"Am not," she denied, but left off on arguing about that in favor of finding out who the mystery woman was. "So then, who--"

"That'd be telling." He quickened his pace, forcing her to quicken her own in order to keep up with him.

She snorted rudely. "Well, duh. See, the whole reason I asked was so you'd tell me." Tired of practically running to keep pace with him, she slowed her steps.

His pace slowed a little as well and she wondered when he'd gained manners.

"Get your condom spell done?" he inquired, tossing a glance at her. Oh, and look, there was a smile on his face; a genuine smile with no smirking.

"Yes. I did." Unzipping her sheepskin coat, she pulled the feather from the inside pocket and held it out to him. "Condor feather."

He took the feather from her, holding it in front of his eyes as he twirled it in his fingers. "What's this? Presents, love? Tsk, I'm not that kinda guy," he said, acting all offended. He handed it back to her with a frown, stiffening beside her as he looked around cautiously.

"Vampire?" she asked, exchanging the feather for her stake. The stake dropped to the ground as a hand slid around her mouth, cutting off her scream. She was hauled back into a cold, hard body.

"Well, this is odd," a voice said from behind her. "You're alive." Another hand slipped around her waist, holding her tight against him, not even letting her elbow swing back to catch him in the gut.

Rude vampire.

"Yeah," she snorted, shrugging at his stupid comment, "we humans usually are alive. It's a thing."

Spike sighed and rubbed his forehead in irritation. "Let her go," he said flatly, as if reading lines from a prompter. "If you don't let her go, I'll have to kill you."

Willow stared at him as the vampire behind her burst out laughing. "Excuse me?" she yelled, staring angrily at Spike. The hand over her mouth muffled her words, and the tiny little cuss word she aimed Spike's way. Judging by his chuckle, he got the gist of it though. "Jerk," she muttered.

Spike moved closer... so slowly that he actually wouldn't be any help this century. She rolled her eyes at him in annoyance.

"When I saw you earlier," the vampire behind her began, "wasn't she... different?"

"Yeah," Willow muttered, "a different woman entirely, you idiot."

"So, uh, what happened?" His hand tightened on her mouth as he lowered his mouth to her neck.

She screamed in that wonderfully muffled way that his hand was allowing and struggled to get free, but he was stronger than her. Much stronger. Time for some kick-butt magick. She closed her eyes and concentrated all her energy on being released, but suddenly the conversation going on around her caught her attention.

"... your pet?" the vampire behind her was laughing. "I don't see any marks on her. Oh, wait..." his voice went high and squeaky, "there's one tiny little bite mark right..." he fastened his mouth over the bite mark Harmony had left behind and started to press down.

"Ow! Ow!" she yelled, kicking him in the shin.

Spike moved directly in front of her, staring past her at the vampire. "Hey," he said, his voice low, his tone even. "Didn't I just say she was mine?"

"Yours?" Willow laughed, realizing the stupidity of that comment as soon as she said it. He was trying to help, and here she was being an idiot by refuting him. She abruptly stopped laughing and nodded frantically. "I mean, yes, I'm his, absolutely. Yes, his. Spike's... I'm all Spike's. Uh..." she tried to turn her head to look behind her, but all she could move was her eyes, "let me go now?"

He didn't let her go, but he did lower his hand from her mouth, which was moist from her breathing all over it. "That right, sweety?" the vampire whispered. "Is this Billy Idol wannabe yours?"

"Yes," she stated with conviction, glaring at Spike when he smirked at her. "We're, uh, like that," she said, crossing her fingers and holding them up for the vampire to see. "Like two peas in a pod."

"Where are your bite marks then? All I see is this one." His finger traced the pulse point along her neck, making her shiver at the light touch.

"They're--" she began, but Spike cut her off.

"They're in more... intimate spots." He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side, smirking at the other vampire. "Right, love?"

She nodded slowly, sighing at the position she was currently in. All this Spike exposure could not be good for a person. And the sex talk with Spike exposure, was verging on dangerous. The way his eyes were dipping down her blouse and his lips were curling into a sexy smile, it was doing things to her that it shouldn't be. He was gross, a pig. In love with Buffy and she was gay and there was no reason for her to wonder just where Drusilla had bite marks. Or the woman in the crypt.

She looked away quickly, not wanting Spike to guess her train of thought which went way beyond wrong.

"Yes, right," she agreed softly, shifting uncomfortably against the vampire behind her. His hand slipped under her shirt, touching the skin of her stomach. She slapped his hand away, pushing against it, but it remained there. "Do you mind? I'm his, remember? Not yours. So back off!" she said angrily, tired of being manhandled.

He growled at her, bravely ignoring both of them in his pursuit of touching her. "Nothing here," he told them. "No bites. Now that's odd. With her being your pet and all."

Spike's eyes dropped back down to her breasts, causing all sorts of red colors to come out from her blush. So many men, so many vampires, so many heated looks. This wasn't her idea of a fun night.

"Higher," he told the vampire, his eyes flicking towards hers and then away again. "And lower."

The vampire's hand started to drift up toward her breasts and she had enough. "Stop right there, mister! Spike," she said angrily, "hello, I'm _yours_ so why are you letting him feel me up?" She grabbed the vampire's hand, halting its slow journey up and sank her fingernails into the flesh, hearing a nice hiss of pain behind her. Ha. "And you!" She spun around in the vampire's grip and shoved him away from her. "Keep your filthy hands off of me."

The vampire stumbled backward from surprise more than any strength she possessed and lost his footing, tripping over his own feet to fall on his ass on the ground. "Bi--"

"Call me a bitch and I swear I'm going to stake you." She shrugged, grabbing the stake at her feet and moving forward. "Oops, gonna do it anyway."

The vampire jumped to his feet, reaching out for her at the same time as she threw the stake. She'd been aiming at the ground, since that's where he'd been laying, so it hit him in the thigh. He growled and snarled, doing the usual angry vampire routine and leapt at her.

She jumped to the side, getting an added extra push from Spike who obviously thought she was in the way.

He yanked the stake from the vampire's leg and shoved him back down to the ground. Dropping to one knee beside the vampire, Spike planted the stake firmly in its chest.

"Yours," Willow snorted, standing up and brushing herself off. "Yeah, that's a plan." Rolling her eyes, she yanked her stake from his hands and stalked off.

"Saved you, didn't I?" he called after her, jumping to his feet and striding along with her. "And if you'd kept your big mouth shut he wouldn't have--"

"Eaten me too much?" she asked incredulously. He didn't get that she was mad at him for letting it go on so long, but he also didn't get that she'd had to rely on him. In times of trouble, she was supposed to be the big gun, the magick friend. The witch with the mojo. She'd come up empty this time though, and had to be saved by Spike.

That galled her no end.

"Wouldn't that be fun?" he laughed, passing by her with long strides.

She stopped walking, staring at his back furiously. "No. No, that would _not_ be fun, Spike. Fun is something normal people have with things that don't include death and torture and dismemberment." She kicked at a headstone as she resumed walking, hurting her foot in the process. "Stupid vampire."

He turned around impatiently, waiting for her to catch up with him, rolling his eyes when he saw her limping. "Didn't mention dying. Or pain or torture. Not even dismemberment."

She frowned at him, wondering what on Earth he was talking about, and then she got it, mostly because of his sudden leer. "You're a--"

"Pig," he sighed, walking beside her when she finally caught up. "And a monster. I'm not worthy of being near you precious human beings." He recited the words almost by rote, sounding nothing more than disappointed. In her?

She tossed him a sideways glance. "I didn't say that. It's just that you're... well, you always have to be disgusting when you're around us. It gets old. And annoying. And irritating. And--"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I get it. And you know, being around you all is no picnic for me. All that ooey gooey sappiness seeping from you, contaminating me with its very presence." He gave a shudder, looking so disgusted she rolled her eyes.

"Whatever, Spike."


	5. Chapter 5

Spike and Willow walked in silence for a ways, each lost in their own thoughts.

Willow had thoughts of human pets dancing in her head. Did vampires really do that? And did they get the studded collars to wear around their necks, perhaps one of those half-sweaters that dog owners got for their-- or, just naked. Walking around naked while the vampire did what? Made it do tricks?

She giggled at that, picturing Harmony leading a human around by a diamond collar with a silver chain attached to it. And no clothes, or maybe one of those poodle sweaters. Oh, and a small pink bow in their hair. Harmony always was about appearances. She'd make the human crawl around on all fours and roll over. Maybe sit up and beg... okay, not so funny anymore.

Images of crawling around on the floor, filthy and bleeding, naked but for the collar attached to her neck, being forced to do stupid human tricks was now foremost in her mind. Being beaten and bit when she tried to escape.

She started to panic, wondering if that girl in Spike's crypt was his pet. If he had her chained up there, forcing her to stay when all she wanted to do was go home.

But, no, the woman hadn't sounded like she wanted to leave. Her imagination was just working overtime, that was all.

Spike sighed beside her, tossing her an irritated look. "Is that a plan you came up with? Speed your heartbeat up and get all that hot..." he paused, closing his eyes for a brief second, "hot blood of yours pumping to tempt the vampires into trying to snack on you?" He swallowed thickly, once again looking at her like she was a tasty treat.

"Hey, I'm not a hot sticky bun, so stop looking at me like that." She sidled away a little, trying not to look frightened. It was true, Spike still scared her. He was evil, what could she say? All that unrestrained evilness-- well, now it was restrained really, but that just made it all the worse. One day that chip wouldn't be there, or would stop working and he would do what he constantly threatened to do, bathe in their blood.

And she'd like to avoid that, please.

"A hot sticky bun," he mused, chuckling in surprise, "I haven't had one of those in months. With the frosting and cin--"

"Cinnamon!" she agreed, laughing and nodding. "The Espresso Pump has the _best_ sticky buns. Mm. To die for, only, you know, not in the actual dying kind of way." She was getting hungry just thinking about them. Maybe after patrol she'd swing by the Pump and pick one up. And a cup of coffee. No sticky bun was complete without the coffee. "You should try them. And the coff..." realizing who she was talking to, who she was discussing food with--the very person who was at that moment probably imagining her as food--she trailed off with a shrug.

"And the what?" he asked, not noticing her sudden uneasiness. There was genuine interest on his face. No smirking, no taunting, just a normal conversation that was going on between two oddly matched beings.

She gave him a small, nervous head shake, grasping the stake tightly with both hands. "Oh, um, they have this coffee that-- that goes perfect with them. With the sticky buns." She nodded and smiled quickly, just a showing of teeth and then it was gone.

His back straightened and he nodded, his narrowed eyes watching her with disappointment. "Right. I should try that some day." His pace sped up, his strides growing wider, quickly leaving her behind.

Again with the disappointment. Why did he keep looking at her like that? Like she'd done something wrong. Something he hadn't expected her to do, or had hoped she wouldn't do. Well, what was that? She wasn't being mean, just nervous.

And really, she couldn't help that she was afraid of him, she just was. Although, talking about sticky buns with a guy didn't really lead to scary thoughts. Maybe it was because she didn't know him well. His time around her was spent trying to kill her, and that wasn't a pastime that led to getting to know one another.

The rest of his time was spent trying to kill her friends. Or it used to be. Now it was spent taunting them. And following Buffy around. Pestering her. Bothering her. Annoying the holy heck out of her.

Still, that was no reason for her to be rude to him. Well, actually it was, but she could be the bigger person and take the higher road.

She sighed heavily, catching up with him. "Sorry. I'm sorry, it's just that... well, you scare me." Nodding at his incredulous look, and then ignoring his prideful look, she shrugged, not surehow to explain it. "When you tried to kill me in my room? Wow," she said seriously, feeling a residual tremor of fear slither down her spine, "I have never been more frightened in my life. Before, or since."

"Really," he said skeptically, frowning in her direction. "I find that hard to believe."

"Really," she assured him. "Although, don't get me wrong, the kidnaping thing was way scary too, with the sniffing and the 'not having had a woman in ages' comment, believe me, it was ultra-scary." Feeling a little better getting it off her chest, she poured it all out there for him, telling him exactly why she wasn't too fond of him. She smiled a little, thinking that was an understatement. "But, what scared me most was that... for a split, split--very minute--split second, I thought about just letting you kill me. I thought, hey, it couldn't be any worse than the constant pain of Oz's betrayal."

Those were thoughts she hadn't even admitted to herself before now. She was just as shocked as Spike was at the admission.

"You wanted to die?" he scoffed, shaking his head as he paused to light a cigarette. "No, can't see it. There's too much life in you." He snapped his lighter shut with a click, squinting at her through the smoke. "You're the one with the pep."

"Well, I was pretty much pep-less then." She frowned at the memories pushing their way forward, forcing her to remember the pain and anguish. "I wasn't big with the pep," she muttered, resuming her normal stride toward the cemetery entrance. And, she thought to herself, it looks like you're about to become reacquainted with those feelings.

No happiness with Tara. And she knew Tara had lost her happiness in the relationship as well. It was there in their lovemaking. In her eyes when she watched Willow. In the small touches that were no longer shared between them.

"Well, everyone thinks about it at least once. Doesn't mean they want it to happen." He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, his face serious, his eyes intent. "But if you do want it to happen," he told her, "ever. Just know that... I'm here for you, baby." He grinned, winking at her. "I'd kill you in a heartbeat."

For a minute there, he'd actually had her thinking he was a decent vampire. Silly her. "If I ever do feel like dying, I'll go to Angel." She grinned right back at him, loving seeing that grin of his fade. She looked up, noting their location with a bit of relief. "Oh, look, here we are. Gotta go, Tara's waiting."

His eyes slid away from hers, and she could've sworn she saw envy in there. But, he had his own girlfriend, right? Why would he envy her hers? No reason, she was just seeing things that weren't there.

"Yeah, yeah," he said in a bored tone, taking a long drag off his cigarette, "go be with your bird." His steps slowed as they neared the entrance, and the couple currently standing under a streetlight with their lips and arms locked around each other.

"My bird," she repeated with a little smile. Tara was a bird, a pretty bird about to fly away from her, taking all her love with-- "Oh!" She took the condor feather out of her pocket and turned around, presenting Spike with it. "Trade ya."

He frowned down at the feather, looking nonplused. "Eh? What do I want your condom feather for?"

She rolled her eyes at him, wondering how far he'd take the joke already. "Freddy. I want Freddy back."

"Freddy... oh." He left his cigarette dangling from his lips as he used both hands to dig her troll doll out of the pocket of his duster. He tossed it to her with a nod. "Take the ugly little thing." Another shudder escaped him, and she started to wonder if it wasn't real.

"Um, thanks," she laughed, sticking Freddy in her jacket pocket as she handed him the feather with a regal nod.

He took it by the end, twirling it between his fingers. The black feather blurred as it spun, drawing her attention to it. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked her.

She frowned at the feather as it started to shimmer iridescently, like a handful of glitter had been thrown into the air around it. Glancing up to see if Spike noticed, she was confused to see that he hadn't. "I... I don't know. Did you see that?" she asked in a rush, still staring at the feather.

"See what?" He lifted the feather up to the moonlight, seeing her unwavering attention on it, and squinted at it, taking the cigarette from his mouth.

Maybe she'd been mistaken. Maybe it was just the smoke. That's all it was, still, she reached out for the feather, just to make sure. "Can I see it for a second?"

He shrugged, handing it to her as he replaced the cigarette between his lips. "Sure, take it. I didn't..." his eyes widened as she lifted it up to the moonlight like he had and twirled it. "What's that?"

She looked at him quickly, wondering what he was seeing. She saw nothing more than an ordinary feather now. No sparklies, no glimmery shimmering. "What do you see?" she asked.

He shook his head, looking a little unsure. "Glitter. Like," he held his hands out toward the feather, waving his fingers a little, "iridescent. And sparkling." He grabbed the cigarette from his lips and dropped it to the grass, stomping it out absently. "You don't see it?" His eyes moved past the feather to her face, widening even more. "It's, uh, it's all over you too."

She looked down at herself, still not seeing anything out of the ordinary. "I don't see it. But that's what I saw too, when you were holding it." She frowned, holding it out to him again. "I didn't see it on you though."

He reached out to take the feather, hesitating for a second before closing his fingers around the stem. "I better not be glittery," he blustered, not quite angry, but not all right with being one of the ones effected by... something.

"You are," she said in awe, seeing the silver glitter sprinkling slowly to the ground around him, landing on his shoulders and hair. One piece landed on his cheek and she reached out to touch it without thinking, cupping his cheek with her palm and using her thumb to wipe at the piece of silver. "You're covered in... it's all silver. Was I silver too?" she asked excitedly. Everything was all Christmas-y. It was cool in the extreme.

"Yeah. Yeah, you were." His hand touched hers, which was still on his cheek and then the glitter was falling all around them, both of them. "Huh," he muttered, looking up into the sky above them.

"It's like snow." She grinned, holding her other hand out to catch some of it. A few pieces landed in her upturned palm and she blew at it, watching it dance and swirl around in the air. "This is so weird."

"Weird is right," Xander said from behind her. "What the heck is going on?"

Willow spun around, sliding her hand free of Spike's, holding her hands out to catch the glitter as she grinned at Xander and Anya. "Isn't it cool?" She looked down at the grass, seeing it starting to collect down there. "We could make glitter angels," she laughed.

"It's so _not_ cool that you were making with the touching of Spike," Xander told her, his voice high and freaked out.

Spike stepped up behind her, brushing off her shoulders. "I don't think they can see it."

"Stop touching her," Xander told Spike, stepping forward to take Willow's hand and pull her away. As soon as his fingers touched hers, he stopped with an audible gasp. "Holy... cow."

"I think he does now," Willow chuckled, biting her lip to keep in her excitement. "Do you see it now, Xander? Do you--"

"What is it?" he asked, looking around him in awe. The glitter spread out to encompass him as well, and when Anya moved closer, grabbing Xander's hand, it grew even bigger. All four of them were now under it.

"We're being sprinkled with pixie dust!" Willow spun around, laughing with abandon. She felt like she was five again, visiting her grandma, and seeing snow for the first time. And playing in it. Oh, that had been so much fun!

"That's not pixie dust," Anya grumped, letting Xander's hand drop. She hurriedly moved free of them, shaking her hair out and squirming around like she had bugs crawling all over her.

"Ahn, hon," Xander laughed, moving closer to her, "I don't think it'll hurt you." He frowned, suddenly wondering if it could do exactly that. "Will it?"

"I hate that stuff," Anya said in irritation, "it's hard to get out of your hair and clothes. It's magick. Pure magick."

"I didn't do it," Willow immediately protested, knowing they were about to start accusing her of being careless with her magick again. "It was not me."

Xander didn't look too convinced of that, and Spike was looking from the feather to her, also not too convinced. Anya, however, snorted at her.

"Oh, please, like you could possibly be doing this." She continued brushing her clothes off as the others stared at her, waiting for an explanation. "Only a God or Goddess can rain magick down on us." She stopped and headed toward Xander, pulling him free of the magick. "Get out of it," she warned Willow and Spike. "Don't wish for anything, don't rhyme, and for god's sake, don't speak in Latin."

Willow looked down at the gathering glitter, kicking at it with the toe of her boot. It was so shiny and pretty. Hardly harmful. Maybe she could take it home and put it away for use later, for spells and stuff. She knelt down, scooping her hands in it, letting it flow through her fingers and flutter to the ground a few times. She looked up when Anya approached, but she wasn't trying to stop Willow.

"Hey, hey! Hands off," Spike ground out, slapping at Anya's grasping hands trying to pull him free of the magick. When Anya dropped her hands from him with a huff, he rubbed his forehead with a sigh. "Just wait until I get this chip out."

Willow rolled her eyes, wondering why he insisted on doing stupid stuff that would only hurt him. And the constant threats were certainly nothing more than annoying to the rest of them.

When Anya started forward again, Spike growled at her. "Back off." His voice was low and threatening.

"Anya, leave Spike alone," Xander sighed, taking her hand in his. "If he wants to play in the pretty glitter, let him play in the pretty glitter."

"But, Xander... it's magick. It could be dangerous," she whispered frantically, gesturing to the two of them still in the magick waterfall.

"But you just said it wasn't," Xander told her reasonably.

"No, I didn't," Anya protested, huffing angrily. "Get them out of there."

Willow snorted at Anya. Everything was dangerous according to her. Even fluffy little bunnies. Scooping up a few handfuls of the magick, she slipped it into her jacket pocket, thinking the blue jar that sat on the shelf above the dresser would be a perfect place to put the magick.

"What are you doing?" Anya shouted in panic, grabbing her arm and yanking her away from the magick.

Startled, Willow dropped most of it on the ground, only managing to slip a tiny amount into her pocket. She yanked her arm free of Anya and stood with her hands on her hips. "Do you mind? I can use this..." she gestured to all the magick dust still fluttering to the ground. "It's just gonna sit there, going to waste? I don't think so. I'm gonna--"

"Leave it right where it's at," Anya said evenly. She got in Willow's face, looking so disgusted Willow had to keep herself from reverting to a third grader to call her names. "It's dangerous. It's pure magick. Stronger than anything you've ever used."

"Will, maybe you should leave it." Xander's wise words, following the advice of his eleven-hundred-year-old girlfriend.

"Yeah," she scoffed, rolling her eyes at Xander. "Maybe I should. Or, maybe you should grow a backbone and stop bowing and scraping to Anyanka, an ex-demon that tortured men for centuries." Ignoring Xander's narrowing eyes, she turned around and went back to the magick. No way was she wasting this stuff.

"Uh, Willow," Spike said slowly, "could be she's right."

She looked up at Spike, glaring at him. Now he was going to pass judgment on her? Please, he was evil incarnate. The murderer of thousands. His advice held little sway with her. Actually, it held none at all. "I didn't ask for your advice, Spike," she said dismissively.

"You're looking a little evil there," he told her, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth clenched tight.

She'd infuriated him. Aw, poor baby. "Evil? What, because I want this magick. Ooo," she held her hands out, waving them around in a spooky fashion, "I'm evil. Grr. Fear me."

"Willow," Xander said loudly, stepping closer, but looking quite like he didn't want to. "Your eyes are black."

"It's the magick," she said, unconcerned. Scooping more into her hands, she shoved it into her pocket, wishing she had an easier way to do this. A dust buster appeared at her feet and she grabbed it with a laugh. "This'll work."

"Stop it," Anya warned her. "It's corrupting you. You're going to end up evil and you're going to kill us all. And then where will you be, huh? Friendless and evil." She threw her hands in the air in frustration. "Xander tell her."

"I'm trying, Ahn," Xander bit out. "Spike, help?"

Willow ignored the three of them; they were being ridiculous. She wasn't going to get corrupted by taking some magick dust home with her. Turning the dust buster on, she calmly vacuumed it up, thinking of all the spells she could do with the stuff. Glory? Pshaw, she could kill Glory with a word. In fact: she would. Right now. Taking a handful of the powder in her hands, she thought of Glory. Stupid, self-involved Glory, all powerful and evil to the core. "Send Glory, the super bitch, back to where she came from," she whispered, blowing the powder from her hand.

"Hey, she's got a point there," Spike said, making no move to stop her.

Xander and Anya also paused, but suddenly, it didn't matter anymore. There was someone else to focus their attention on now.

"What this," Glory said in amusement, standing a few yards away with her hands on her hips, "you think you can get rid of me that easily?" She tapped her red-tipped nails against her hips with an annoyed sigh, shaking her curly blond hair with a huff. "If it were that easy, don't you think I'd have tried it already?" She stalked closer, her slinky red dress shimmering in the moonlight, swaying as she neared them.

"Oh, good going," Spike snarled angrily, grabbing Willow's arm and yanking her to her feet. "Bring her here, why don't you? Excellent plan."

Willow brushed her hair over her shoulder and dusted her hands off, shaking free of Spike's hold. "Time to take the trash out," she mumbled, walking toward Glory.

Glory crossed her arms over her chest with a snide laugh, watching Willow approach. She frowned suddenly and yanked her foot up, glaring at the muddy heels of her spiked shoes. "I hate this dimension," she groused, slamming her foot down on the ground only to get it stuck again. "Ugh."

Anya backed away, dragging Xander with her. Xander reached out to grab Willow's arm to take her with them, but she shrugged out of his grip. "Willow," Xander hissed, "it's time to split. Buffy couldn't take her, what chance do we have?"

Spike strode forward, yanking her back with the group. "Thinking of dying again?"

"No." She pushed Spike back, watching as he stumbled and bumped into Anya, dropping the three of them to the ground.

"Bloody hell," he shouted angrily. "If she doesn't kill you, Willow, I will."

Willow sighed and tossed her hand in the direction of the people-pile. "Hold." They stopped moving, staying frozen in time... only not completely frozen, their eyes were moving. She resisted the urge to wave at them.

"Willow, the witch," Glory mused, walking around the frozen pile of bodies. "I like it. I could use something like this." She gestured at Spike, Xander, and Anya. "You have no idea how irritating my minions can get with their whining and complaining." She rolled her eyes and joined Willow, circling around her. "They bleed all over my pretty things and blood does not come out," she sighed.

Willow watched Glory dubiously. This was what was so scary? Annoying and whiny she could understand, but a big fighter that kicked Buffy's ass? "Uh, excuse me," she said in confusion, "are we friends?"

Glory stopped circling her and shook her head. "It's called girl talk," she snapped. "I was sharing."

"Oh, 'cause I was kind of wondering when we were going to get to the fighting part?" She smirked at Glory, making sure the other woman saw how unimpressed she was with her. "That's why you're here, right?"

"No, I'm here because you tried to send me back, which is all I've wanted from the beginning. However, that's impossible," she said angrily, grinding out each word, "without... my... key!" She lifted her hands and reached out to touch Willow's head, shoving her hands forcefully inside. "Maybe you can tell me something so my trip here isn't wasted."

Willow screamed, feeling the invading fingers reaching into her mind, scrounging around, looking, searching... wanting something specific. "Stop," she ground out, falling to her knees. "Get out!"

Glory's hands slipped free, releasing the intense pressure on Willow's mind. "I'm not done yet," she told Willow, rolling her eyes when all Willow did was stare up at her, panting. She reached down and started forcing her hands into Willow's head again.

Willow shook free of the invading fingers, shoving at Glory with both hands, feeling the magick swimming through her veins, empowering her. "Die."

Glory stumbled backwards with an irritated look. "Do you mind? I'm trying to steal your sanity here, maybe get a little information... and you're not cooperating." She darted froward, grabbing Willow by the arms. "Now, I'm mad."

Glory lifted her a few feet off the ground, her arms not straining, no sign that she was lifting anything heavier than a pillow. Willow reached forward, grabbing Glory's arms, but barely had time to circle her fingers around her before she was tossed backward. She yelled in surprise, anticipating the pain which was so much less than she thought it would be when she smacked into a tree, hitting her head and back.

She rolled over with a groan, feeling a headache coming on. Her back was a bit sore, but nothing she couldn't handle. "Gonna feel that tomorrow." She climbed to her feet, pushing herself up with a little effort. Staring across the distance at Glory, who was watching her like she was her own little personal TV show, Willow frowned. "Why aren't you dying?"

"Um, because I'm immortal and invincible?" Glory laughed, crooking her finger Willow's way. "But, I could use a little aggression therapy. I get all tight and tense sometimes."

Willow sighed and started toward her again, wondering if magic was the way to go. Specifically the magick dust in her pocket. But she would need to be close enough to her to get the full effect. How she knew that, she had no idea. Stopping in front of glory, she slipped her hands into her jacket pockets.

Glory, still going on and on, talking like they were old friends, shrugged and grabbed Willow's arm, holding her still so she could talk. "My minions are always telling me, 'loosen up', you know? And 'don't get so upset', but I can't seem to help it. Being a girl in this day and age is hard work."

"Yeah," Willow agreed, nodding as if she was right there with her. She slowly pulled her hands free of her pockets, a handful of the magick in each hand. "It really is. Just the other day I was--"

Glory scowled at her. "I was talking about me. Not you. This is me-time. Why does everyone always interrupt me when I'm talking?" she practically screeched, yanking Willow closer to her, forcing her to drop the magick to the ground. "You're all alike, you little human... meat sacks."

Her fingers tightened on Willow's arms, ignoring the struggles Willow was trying to put up and was getting nowhere with. She once again lifted Willow up and threw her backward.

She hit her back again, on a headstone this time. She lay crumpled up against it for a few precious seconds, feeling every ache and pain in her body before it started to fade away. She sat up with a groan, feeling the skin of her back split open, and blood soak into her shirt and drip below the waistband of her jeans.

Considering the two trips through the air, and what had stopped her falls, she wasn't too bad off.

Glory stomped forward, stopping a few times to yank her heels free of the soft ground before bending down to pick her up again. "You're fun. Not like that annoying Slayer. She's always jumping up again, running after me, like she could actually hurt me. I mean how pathetic is she? A lowly vampire slayer. I'm a HellGod; I was killing people before this dimension was a dimension."

Willow wondered if Glory ever shut up. Maybe that was her secret weapon, talk her enemies to death while throwing them around like a rag doll. "Could you just... shut up, for like, five seconds?"

"I could," Glory agreed pleasantly, "but only after I kill you."

"Yeah, that'll happen," she said bravely. "So, you're immortal, huh? Well, we'll just see about that." Grabbing a handful of the magick from her pockets, she blew it in Glory's face. "Reveal."

Glory straightened up with a cough, waving her hands in front of her. "My hair! I just..." she began, but then her voice deepened, and her body started to remold itself. Her hair shortened and went straight, her body grew slightly taller and definitely more masculine. By the time her body finished reshaping itself, she was no longer Glory, but Ben, the intern.

"... washed it," Ben finished, looking around him in confusion. "Where am I?" he mumbled, sighing when he saw the small red dress he had on. He looked up when she moved closer, circling around him. "Uh, hi... I'm just--"

"Glory," Willow said in fascination. "You share a body with Glory. That is so cool."

"You're not supposed to know that," he mumbled, bending down to unstrap the heeled shoes on his too-big feet. He caught sight of the trio on the ground, still frozen, and straightened up again. "What are they doing?" he asked curiously. "Did Glory do something?" He straightened up, frowning at her. "Why do you remember?"

"Magick," Willow answered, still circling around him. "Are you... whatever she is, or human?" Why had Ben been revealed to her? Was he the key to taking Glory out? Did he know how?

"I'm human," he answered slowly. When she said nothing more, he moved over to the trio on the ground. "They're..."

"Bound by magick. I had to keep them away from Glory. She would've killed them." Joining him by her friends, she glanced down, seeing the fear in Xander's eyes. Anya looked annoyed and the smallest bit fearful while Spike just looked furious.

"She'll kill you," Ben told her, spinning around toward her. "You have to go. All of you, get out of here. She won't stay away for long." His worried eyes darted around frantically.

"If I kill you," Willow said slowly, "will she die?" This could be her chance. That's what the magick was showing her, revealing to her. If she killed Ben, which maybe she could do, he _was_ one half of an evil duo after all, Glory would die as well. She'd have no body to take over anymore. Unless she could just take over another body. "Is she bound to you, or can she take over anyone's body?"

"She's bound to me. We're bound together forever." He backed away a few steps, watching her warily. "Where's Buffy? You're one of her friends, aren't you? I remember the leather guy." He pointed toward Spike, his eyes flicking that way for a split second. "And you. You were at the party. He got thrown through a window." He stopped walking, yanking at the short skirt, trying to get it to cover him more.

Willow followed him every step of the way, feeling something wash over her. Peace. She felt peaceful. Like everything was coming together and this was right. She would kill Ben and take care of Glory. Dawn would be safe. Buffy would be safe. All of them would. No more hyped-up evil bitch looking for her key. She reached into her pocket and drew out a handful of the magick.

Ben looked fearfully toward her hand and then took off running. Willow blew on the dust and whispered, "Die."

Ben made it a few more feet before coming to a halt and spinning around, grabbing his throat desperately. He sank to his knees, clawing at his throat, his eyes, wide and fearful, fixing on her face.

She walked slowly toward him, watching him turn red as he gasped for air. His skin matched his dress, she thought with a giggle. Stopping in front of him, she sank to her knees as well, watching him curiously. His face was losing all color now, turning white. His lips were blue. Like the flag; red, white, and blue. She smiled, reaching out a hand to touch his cheek. "I'm sorry, but Glory can't have the Key. She can't be allowed to touch Dawn."

He gasped frantically, his eyes sliding shut. Claw marks of red, dripping blood, marked the expanse of his throat, open to her eyes by the low neckline of the dress. He stiffened with a last gasp of air and then crumpled to the grass, unmoving. She sighed and leaned forward, checking his pulse to make sure he wasn't faking it.

There was nothing there. No pulse, no heartbeat. Ben was dead. Even better, Glory was dead. No more worrying about that bimbo. She pushed herself to her feet in one fluid movement and brushed her hands off.

Turning from the sight of Ben's body, she approached her friends, anticipating the happiness and relief in their eyes. But that wasn't what awaited her.

Xander's eyes were shut, squeezed tight. When she knelt down to his level, reaching out a hand to touch his face, he looked up at her from his position underneath Anya, disappointment and sorrow showing plainly.

Anya glared at her, saying with her eyes what she couldn't say with words, which was obviously along the lines of, 'Let us go!'. Only with more anger and disgust.

Spike didn't look away. But he didn't look happy either. He wasn't disappointed, or angry, there was no sorrow filling his eyes, no fear, but there was something there. Something she couldn't figure out.

What was with them? She'd taken care of an evil enemy, they should be jumping for joy. "Release," she muttered, watching as they completed their fall. Xander, on the bottom, groaned once or twice as Spike rolled off of Anya and Anya followed suit.

Willow stood as they began to move.

Xander laid still for a few seconds and then sat up slowly, bending his knees as he stared up at her. "You killed Ben," he whispered torturously, his face showing his unwillingness to conceive of the idea. "Why? Why did you do that?"

She frowned at him. He'd been there the whole time, he'd seen everything. Why would he even need to ask? "She was evil," Willow told him, unable to understand why he was looking so disgusted and accusing.

"She?" he ground out, jumping to his feet and grabbing her arms. "She? She was a he, Willow. A man. It was the magick... it made you crazy," he said desperately, looking around frantically with his eyes as if trying to come up with an explanation for her actions. "Ben wasn't evil. He had-- he had nothing to do with any of this."

"Wasn't evil," Spike scoffed, striding closer to Xander to stare at him stupidly. "What the bloody hell would you call him then? He was evil--"

Xander exploded, shoving Spike away from him. "Why? Because Buffy liked him? Because he liked Buffy? Were you jealous, Spike, glad that Willow got rid of the competition when you couldn't do it yourself?" He swung a fist at Spike's jaw, shouting in frustration as Spike ducked away.

Anya stepped in front of him and held him back with her hands on his chest. "Xander, stop it."

"No, Ahn, no, I will not stop-- did you not just see what I saw? Willow killed Ben." Xander clenched his fists and stomped away, glaring at Spike as he paced by him.

"I didn't just kill Ben," Willow told them, imploring Spike or Anya to explain it to Xander. Why didn't he understand? "I killed Glory."

"Glory?" Xander tossed back, throwing his hand out towards Ben. "Glory's not here, Willow. That's Ben!"

"Are you blind as well as stupid?" Spike asked him, staring at him incredulously. He grabbed Xander's arm and yanked him over to Ben's body. "That's Glory."

Xander shook Spike off of him. "No, that's Ben. The intern."

"Ben, the intern," Spike sneered, shoving Xander closer, holding him by the neck as he forced him to look. "Why's he wearing a dress, Xander? Why's he got make-up on?" He let go of  
Xander's neck and stalked a few feet away. "And why was he wearing these," he asked, bending down to pick up the muddy heels Ben had taken off. "He _was_ Glory, nimrod."

Anya shoved by Spike, pushing him out of the way to get to Xander who was rubbing his neck and frowning at the shoes in Spike's hands.

"No, he wasn't." Xander shook his head, looking down at Ben in confusion. "How could that be? Glory was here and then..."

"And then she was gone," Anya finished for him, staring at Spike and Willow like they were the insane ones. "Ben came and-- and... he--" she frowned, glancing at Xander as she tried to remember. "Ben was here." She shrugged, glancing down at Ben. "In a dress."

"He was Glory?" Xander asked cautiously, as if he didn't dare hope they were telling him the truth. "Ben was Glory." He sighed, dropping to a headstone, his eyes shining with relief. "Oh, thank God." He looked up at Willow and jumped up, running to hug her tight. "I'm sorry. I thought--"

"Yeah, we all know what you thought," Spike said in irritation. "We were there for that."

Willow looked at Spike over Xander's shoulder, arching her eyebrows at him. He snorted at her in disgust as he lit a cigarette. "It's okay, Xander," Willow said after a minute, when he didn't let her go. She patted his back once, then again. "Um, Xander? Life's going to be hard to get through with a Xander-shaped person attached to me."

Anya sighed and yanked Xander from her. "Okay. Can we go home now?"

Xander pulled away from Willow and stared into her face. "Are you okay? Something... something happened back there." He held his hand up, motioning to the spot where she'd frozen them. "You went a little nuts on us."

"I did," she agreed, starting to feel the magick fade from her. As it faded, the pain came in its place. "I really did, but I'm good now. It's wearing off." She brushed her hands off, and even emptied her pockets, trying not to touch the stuff. She didn't need any more evil-Willow invading her. Wow, that had been wicked. "It's... oh, ow, oh... pain." She sank to the ground, breathing slowly, holding herself as still as possible without halting her breathing altogether. Her eyes widened as she remembered flying through the air and smacking into a tree. "All that Superman stuff is starting to take its toll," she whispered, gasping for breath.

"What is it?" Xander asked, hovering nearby, afraid to touch her. "What hurts?"

"Oh, just, you know, my everywhere," she admitted, "but mostly my back. And my head." If she stayed there all night, unmoving, would the vampires and other evil creatures of the night think she was a part of the scenery and leave her to her dying? 'Cause, boy did she feel like she was dying.

"It's no wonder," Anya told her with not an ounce of sympathy, "you're not a Slayer. Even Buffy hurts after fighting Glory."

On the heels of the physical pain came the emotional pain. Her eyes landed on Ben's dead, lifeless body. One hand was flung out from his side, the fingers curled in a fist. A fist that would never open again, because of her. She'd killed him. Taken a human's life without thought.

A wrenching feeling twisted in her gut, tightening until she couldn't stand it any longer and began to sob. Guilt and shame washed over her, filling her with self-loathing.

Gasping for breath she suddenly didn't have and trying not to hyperventilate, she tore her eyes away from Ben. "Oh... oh, god, oh, god. I killed him," she sobbed. "I-- I killed him. Oh, god."

She felt dirty, like snakes were crawling under her skin.


	6. Chapter 6

Willow woke up to a room that was dark but for the moonlight shining through the windows. Hushed voices whispered outside her bedroom door, but she didn't strain to hear them.

They were discussing her and her descent into evil. She'd killed a man, and though he'd been a part of a greater evil, that didn't make it any easier to take.

In the four days since killing Ben, Buffy had moved her into Joyce's old bedroom, insisting she stay there because her parents were out of town and she needed help to get around. That Tara didn't protest too much didn't matter anymore. That she didn't care that Tara didn't protest also didn't matter. Nothing mattered much anymore.

So, Willow did as she was told and moved into the Summers' house. Life was different these days. Like now, she occasionally caught hushed conversations and saw furtive looks. Mostly from Anya and Giles.

Giles was worried. Afraid she'd suddenly turn evil again, sporting black eyes and who knew what else. He didn't want to take the chance that she'd be overwhelmed by magick again, so he asked her not to do any spells for a while. That was fine with her, she was afraid too.

Not just afraid of the magick and what it'd done to her, but also afraid that it might be gone. Forever. Since that night, she hadn't felt it swirling around inside of her. She was fearful that the pure magick had done something to her that had lasting effects. She had frequent nosebleeds and headaches. Signs of using too much magick, but she hadn't even lit a candle since killing Glo-- Ben.

Since killing Ben.

Buffy treated her no differently than before, but Willow could see it in her eyes, in the way Buffy looked away instead of making eye contact. Something had changed between them, she just wasn't sure exactly what it was.

Rolling over with a groan, she stared out the window, looking up at the sliver of a moon darting behind the wisps of gray clouds out and about.

The hushed voices stopped and silence descended once again. She felt her shoulders relax, her stiff posture--an automatic response to company these days--melted away.

A minute later, she heard the downstairs door shut and footsteps ascend the stairs. The person stopped outside her door, hesitating for a minute before knocking lightly.

"Willow?" It was Buffy.

She heard the door open slowly and was halfway inclined to let Buffy think she was asleep. She didn't feel like talking. But she didn't do that. If she acted fine, then they'd stop treating her like a piece of glass.

"Hi, Buffy." She rolled over slightly, as far as she could with her back being the way it was. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but it was an effort to keep it there.

"Um, I'm here to take you downstairs. Giles and I talked about it, and we agree that it's okay as long as I carry you and you don't do any actual moving." She laughed a little, the sound dying almost as soon as it made an appearance. As if the room wasn't meant for happiness. She looked around, her eyes landing on a picture of her, Dawn and Joyce. A brief look of pain crossed her face before she forced herself to continue. "So, what do you say? Wanna hop on the Buffy Express?"

She'd thought about going downstairs many times in the past few days, but she couldn't do it. Couldn't face everyone and the silence that would fall as soon as she came into the room. "I-- I don't think so," she whispered, shaking her head and looking away.

"Come on," Buffy encouraged, moving closer to the bed. "It's just you and me. Dawn's at a friend's house and Anya's at the shop with Giles."

"Where's Xander?" Willow asked curiously. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard. Maybe she could go downstairs, take a step towards forgiving herself. As soon as the thought entered her mind, she shied away from it.

"Home. Probably pigging out on pizza." She grinned, rolling her eyes. "It's two for--"

"Tuesday," Willow laughed, rolling her eyes too. "The boy with the metabolism that won't stop." Xander and his pizza days were legendary around them. His record was one pizza by himself, two sodas and a piece of pie. Later that night, Willow was sure he'd visited the bathroom a few times. He'd looked a little green as he walked home, holding his stomach and groaning.

"Yep." Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, her smile going the way of Willow's memories of Xander and the pizza. "You haven't left the room all week, and not because of your back." She traced a fingernail along the edge of the bedspread, frowning as she glanced up at Willow. "Please," she whispered. "I miss you."

Willow closed her eyes against the pleading on Buffy's face. She didn't want to be normal again, and going downstairs to sit would be the first step back to Normalville. She didn't want to-- that was a lie. She wanted more than anything to be normal again, but she couldn't let herself have that elusive feeling of belonging again. It wasn't hers anymore.

"I'd rather not..." she began, but trailed off when Buffy stood up, staring down at her.

"Well, you're going to," she insisted, yanking back the comforter. "What you did was necessary, Willow. Glory would've taken Dawn and killed her while sucking this whole dimension into hell." She reached forward, ignoring Willow as she tried to move away from her hands. "I, for one, like the world just like it is, thank you very mucho much."

"Buffy, I don't want to go downstairs," she protested, stopping just short of slapping at Buffy's hands as they grabbed her shoulders and held her still. "I want to be left alone. I-- I just need to work through--"

"The pain and the guilt and the other things you're feeling," Buffy interrupted, nodding in agreement. "And you should. But downstairs is just as easy a place to do it as up here." She shook Willow a little, staring into her eyes. "You're my best friend, Willow. I love you. What you did was awful, and horrible, and yeah, I am a little wigged out by it, as we all should be, but I am not going to let it tear you apart. Clothes or no clothes?"

Willow blinked at her, confusion showing plainly on her face. "What?" She looked down at herself, noting the loose white t-shirt she'd been wearing as a nightgown and beneath that, nothing more than a pair of panties. "Oh. Clothes," she managed to get out before Buffy was tossing some at her from the dresser against the wall. "Actually," she conceded, hoping to stall Buffy. "I... I think I want a shower. I'm sick of baths. I want to stand up and do a little of the work. My back is healing, but it needs stretching." As she said the words, she realized she wasn't lying. She did want to get up and shower. To do something besides lie there and think.

"All right," Buffy agreed, circling the bed to help her to her feet. Once she was standing, Buffy wrapped a robe around her shoulders, shaking her head at the thin body beneath the terrycloth. "Set the massager to low, trust me on this, and take it easy. Ew, your nose is bleeding again."

Willow reached up to touch under her nose, feeling a small amount of blood trickling out. She groaned in annoyance. "At least they're slowing down," she muttered, shuffling into the large bathroom.

The shower attached to Joyce's room was a shower only, and she had yet to use it. So far, all her bathing had been done in the main bathroom down the hall, where there was a tub. This, though, looked a lot more comfortable. Massagers were always good. Showers with warm water, even better.

Buffy was right. The low setting on the massager was perfect. She actually couldn't let the water spray touch her back at all without pain, but letting it wash down her skin from her head... it was perfect. It was a little hard to wash her hair with her arms only being able to move halfway up, but she managed it.

After a too-short shower, she stood in front of the mirror, examining her back. Bruises lined the entire expanse but for her right shoulder blade. A finger of bruises stretched their reach around her abdomen and hip on the right, along with a few scrapes and cuts. One particularly nasty gash ran from the middle of her neck down to her right breast. She figured it was from the headstone. She'd missed the thing partially, landing smack dab on the side of the stone.

She tried to dress in the clothes Buffy had brought her, but they scratched her back too much. She kept the towel loosely around her and shuffled back to the bedroom.

Buffy was just coming through the doorway, probably having heard the water shut off. "Hey, all ready?" Her eyes lowered to the fluffy yellow towel wrapped around Willow's body. "In a towel?"

Willow shook her head, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "It hurts to wear these," she told Buffy, dropping the clothes to the bed. "I'll stay up here. I'm good." She started to sit on the bed, but Buffy rushed forward, halting her downward mobility.

"Uh-uh, no. I have something you can wear." She carefully settled her arm around Willow's shoulders and led her down the hall and into her own room. "Remember that halter thingy I got a few summers back? The white one?" She pushed her closet door open and searched through the clothes hanging there.

"Um, yeah. I think." Willow looked around the room she'd spent so much time in over the past five years. Their teenage memories had taken shape here. Good ones, bad ones, just about every variety you could imagine, it was all felt here. They'd been so naive then, even with the vampires and demons they fought almost nightly.

Back then, there'd been a simplicity to their lives. Get up, go to school, converse about the bad things in town, fight the bad things, then Bronze it. Sometimes it didn't happen in that order, but that was their life in high school. She missed that. Now, things were different. She was gay, Xander was the one in a steady relationship, Giles owned a magic shop, Buffy had a sister. Joyce was dead.

Ben was dead.

"Will?" Buffy said, waving something white in front of her face. "Found it."

Willow sighed and took the shirt from Buffy, trying to lift it higher than shoulder height. After the third try, Buffy gently took it from her shaking hands and slipped it over her head, straightening the neckpiece carefully.

"Want to tie it, or no?"

Willow looked down. The white cloth, held up only by a strip around her neck, hung loosely to her abdomen, the ends, which were supposed to tie around the back at her waist, fell to points at her knees. "Maybe loosely." She felt naked with her back completely exposed. But no one was around anyway, just her and Buffy.

Buffy tied the straps loosely around her waist, letting it fall past her waist, then helped her into a pair of black sweat pants.

"Let's go, Speedy," Buffy teased, walking along beside her, despite the slow pace she kept up. "I was thinking a movie. Or we could talk. We haven't just talked in forever."

"Movies are good," Willow immediately said, not wanting to be trapped downstairs, forced to talk things over. To figure things out. To show Buffy and everyone else how much of a failure she was. How weak she'd been for allowing the magick to take over.

Liar, her mind tossed at her. Liar. She scoffed at herself, deliberately not allowing herself to think the truth. That she knew what she was doing the whole time, that she knew she was killing a human and that it was wrong. That she'd weighed the pros and cons and found the cons to killing Ben wanting.

He'd had to die.

"You sure?" Buffy asked, taking the first step down with her. "Talking is--"

"Overrated." Seeing the hurt look Buffy quickly tried to hide, she bit her lip and took the next step, despite the pain shooting through her back. "Sorry. I'm just not ready yet."

"That's okay," Buffy bluffed, "when you're ready, I'm here."

Willow hissed in a breath, feeling the skin pulling taut over her muscles. "Oh, this is..." she laughed shortly, thinking it fitting punishment for her, "this is fun. I'm ready to go back upstairs now."

Buffy laughed lightly, ignoring Willow's tiny-voiced plea. She moved in front of her and turned her back, bending her knees to lower herself to a decent height. "Put your arms around me and hang on."

Willow lifted her arms higher than the screaming pain in her muscles wanted her to and dropped them over Buffy's shoulders with a gasp of relief. "Okay," she mumbled, grabbing her left wrist with her right hand and hanging on tight.

"Hang on." Buffy stood up straight and slowly moved down the stairs, carrying a dangling Willow on her back. Once they reached the bottom, Buffy kept going, all the way to the front room.

Willow had to bend her knees a little to keep them from dragging on the floor, but they finally made it. She glanced down at the couch, noting the pillow and sheets covering it. "Am I being banished to the couch?" she asked, only half-joking.

Buffy rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Right, Will. That's what's happening." She bent over and tucked a corner of the white sheet into the back of the couch. "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable while we talked." Seeing Willow about to protest, she quickly added, "Or watched movies."

"Thanks." Willow sat on one end, keeping her back perfectly straight and her knees tightly together. "Oh, this is comfy," she lied.

Buffy chuckled. "Lie down. I'll fix some popcorn and grab something to drink. Think of a movie you wanna watch," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen.

Willow tried to think of a movie she felt like watching, but came up empty. One title popped into her head from her parent's video collection, which had hardly been touched by them at all: Defending Your Life. She'd never seen it before, but maybe now was a good time to do so.

She settled back a little, loosening up as much as she could without resting against the couch, and picked up the remote from beside her. Just as she turned the TV on, the phone rang. She turned the volume up, not wanting to hear Buffy's hushed conversation to whoever was on the other end, and flipped through the channels, hoping to find something interesting already on.

Commercials, documentaries. A science fiction show about traveling through space. Could be neat. She left it there for a few minutes, watching MacGuyver and a woman with short blond hair walk into a large ring of shimmering blue liquid.

Buffy returned a few minutes later carrying a bowl overflowing with popcorn and a bottle of water. "What's this?" she asked curiously, nodding at the TV.

Willow started to shrug, but halted the movement before she upset her cranky muscles. "I dunno. MacGuyver, the Space Traveler?" she guessed.

Buffy laughed a little louder and longer than was necessary over the poor joke, and judging by the sheepish look on her face, she knew she wasn't fooling Willow. She set the popcorn and water on the table before sitting beside her. She didn't get comfortable, she looked poised to flee.

Her hands moved restlessly, fluffing the pillow behind her and covering Willow with the sheet. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That was Giles," she finally said, sighing as she pushed herself to her feet. "Another woman was... uh, killed, in the park by Ridge, and he wants me to check things out. Look around."

Willow didn't feel too disappointed that Buffy was leaving. In fact, the more alone she was, the better. At least that way she didn't have to pretend. "Of course," Willow said without hesitation. "You need to go. Don't worry, I'm good here." She smiled widely, holding up her remote. "Over a hundred channels? There's bound to be something to hold my interest."

Buffy didn't look too convinced. She frowned down at Willow and twisted her hands a few times before heading to the closet for her jacket. "Are you sure? I can have Dawn come home, or send Xander over," she offered, stopping in the doorway.

"Go and be productive, Buffy. I'll be all right alone." She grinned, leaning forward slowly to grab the bottle of water from the table. "See? I'm a big girl."

Buffy nodded a few times, her eyes still showing her worry. "Still, maybe I should--"

"Get your weapons and go patrol? Excellent idea!" She waved her hands in a shooing motion and gave Buffy a stern look. Not Resolve-Face-worthy, but still effective. "Look," she said lightly, "I've got MacGuyver and that girl to watch, both being equally good-looking."

Buffy laughed softly and headed up the stairs for her weapons. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you saying things like that," she called over her shoulder. "You're supposed to be the shy one."

Willow nodded in agreement. She was still a little surprised when she said things like that too. Her confidence level had gone up nearly fifty percent since meeting Buffy, and another twenty percent since falling in love with Tara. But that she found women attractive was odd for her. She'd never considered it before meeting Tara. Sure, she'd thought this girl was pretty, or that girl had nice lips, but that she was attracted to them? Not a chance in heck.

As Buffy came down the stairs with stakes hidden somewhere on her person, Willow wondered if she truly was gay, or if she just fell in love with someone who happened to be a woman. Round and round you go, she thought, waving a few fingers in Buffy's direction. "Be careful," she said automatically.

"Always," Buffy called back. "I'll be back as soon as I can. If something happens, I'll send--"

"Buffy, don't send anyone over. I'm okay," she stressed, feeling like an invalid all of a sudden. Her nerves were nearing the breaking point and all this sudden concern for her well-being was just making things worse. "Go. Have lots of slaying."

With a final look, Buffy turned and left the house, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Willow let out a sigh of relief and got comfortable. The popcorn bowl was near enough for her to grab, but still difficult to get. She hooked her fingers over the edge and drew it toward her enough to get a good hold on it, but unfortunately, the bowl had other ideas. It spun to the side and off the edge of the table, dropping popcorn all over the carpet.

"So much for snacking," she sighed, not even considering cleaning up the mess. It just wasn't possible. Un-muting the TV, she scooted around to get comfy, shifting this way and that, but each position left her back slumping or pressing against the back of the couch. "Okay, lying down it is."

Making sure her sweat pants stayed low on her back, she laid on her stomach, facing the television set. A big guy with a gold insignia on his forehead was currently raising an eyebrow at MacGuyver, ignoring the smile from the girl and the guy with the glasses. "Lots of cute, pretty people," she muttered, resting her head on her folded arms and losing herself in the show in order to keep her mind off other things.

********

Willow woke up to a darkened room, frowning at the feeling of the too-soft bed beneath her. Where was she? Opening her eyes slowly, she focused on the pillow in front of her eyes. Her back hurt too much to move, so she stayed still, not moving anything but her eyes. A pillow was under her arms and a few inches beyond that, was the couch arm.

Front room. Buffy's front room, watching TV. Right. Only the television was no longer on. Why wasn't it on? She'd fallen asleep after MacGuyver, the Space Traveler, which turned out to be Stargate SG1.

A hand slid down her back and she gasped, jerking her head toward the person kneeling in the popcorn on the floor. "Buffy?" It wasn't Buffy, she knew that for a fact.

The hand had calluses and was bigger than Buffy's. It was a man's hand, cool to the touch and soothing. But that was neither here nor there, someone was feeling her up and she didn't know who and she was scared. She couldn't defend herself if she needed to.

When her eyes adjusted to the dim light from the streetlights shining through the window, she saw a shock of short blond hair. A leather coat. An unlit cigarette dangling from Spike-lips.

She let her breath out in a rush, wanting so badly to slap him for scaring her, but she couldn't move. And why exactly was he caressing her back? "Spike... what are you doing?"

He looked down at her face, adding another hand to the one already getting a little too close to parts he shouldn't be touching. Like all of her. "Your back's one giant bruise, isn't it?" he asked softly, almost reverently. His blue eyes shined in the light from the window.

"Uh, yeah," she agreed, moving a little toward the back of the couch, hoping to get out of his reach, or at the very least, give him a hint to stop touching her. "Oh, hey," she gasped, "that's-- that's not a bruise. And it's not my back. Could you not do that, please?" His fingers, sliding along the sides of her exposed breasts, went still.

"I brought a salve." He held up a small jar filled with a green substance. "Giles told me to bring it over. Supposed to help heal you." He sat back on his heels, taking the cigarette from his lips and sticking it in his duster pocket. "Buffy's gonna be a while." He took his coat off, tossing it on the chair across from him. "So you get me."

"I don't want you." Seeing his eyebrows raise up, she sighed. "I don't want your salve. I killed someone and if I have a little pain to pass the time with, hey, more power to me." She struggled to sit up, but he pressed a hand to the one uninjured part of her back and held her still.

"Rupert's orders. Don't wanna disappoint him do we?" His smirking chuckle told her otherwise, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. "Besides, he and your girl went to a lot of trouble to make this thing."

"She's not my girl anymore," Willow muttered under her breath.

"Heard about that." He opened the jar, sniffing it cautiously. "Mm, Eau De Sewers," he muttered, scooping a few fingers into the toxic-looking paste. "She still cares though, right? So you should be grateful."

"Spike, don't touch me with that-- oh! Cold!" She wriggled around, ignoring the pain and his restraining hand to sit up. Her efforts only bunched the sheet up underneath her and left it pressing against her stomach in discomfort. "What the hell is the matter with you?" she huffed, almost breathless with pain, seeing his face turn as he leaned down and sniffed her back.

"You smell good. Like..." he paused, his gold eyes landing on her face, "cinnamon and apples. How do you do that? Where's it come from? Is it soap or shampoo?"

She frowned, struggling in earnest now. He was scaring her. Sine when did Spike notice her at all, let alone know what she smelled like? Something was wrong here. "Spike, get away from me."

He nodded and did as she asked, but not to leave her alone. He stripped off his shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it to the popcorn-strewn floor. "It's you, isn't it? The smell? It's all you. I thought soap or something, but this is good. This is better." He leaned down and, his hand no longer coated in the salve, reached up to caress her back softly. "You and the blood, that's heady stuff, baby."

Where'd the salve go? And why couldn't she move? Screaming as loud as she could, she hoped someone was nearby, someone able to hear her. To help her. "Somebody, please," she whispered, crying, "help me. Please, Spike," she begged, "don't kill me. Help me!"

Spike smiled wide. "Of course I'll help you. That's what I'm here for. To soothe you. To heal your aches and pains and cure what ails ya." He lifted the jar in his hands, his fingers once again coated in the green paste. And now, not only was his shirt missing, but his pants too. He was completely naked and the bareness of his body was there, in all its glory. And wow, was it glorious.

"What...?" she began, sitting up with no pain. He grabbed her arms and hauled her to him, pressing his mouth desperately against hers. She moaned, and shoved at him. The moan turned from one of distress to one of desire as his lips moved on hers, his tongue slipping between her parted lips.

She threaded her hands through his hair, which was soft and baby fine. Not sticky and hard-crusted like she'd always thought. She couldn't help but press closer, to want to feel more of him. "Spike," she whispered, pulling back to look at him. "Why do I want you?"

But it wasn't Spike staring back at her. It was Ben.

He grinned, a demonic look on his face. His rotting flesh dropped to the floor, his hair, long and curly--Glory's hair--slid sideways in a wet mushy pile to his lap, the curls sticking up in odd spots with blood and goo. "We can't do this," he said regretfully, "we're coworkers, and it would never work out between us."

She screamed and yanked free of him, jumping to her feet and running past him. The floor beneath her thickened and her bare feet sank into the carpet. Each step she took was slow and hard. The door stretched out in front of her, looking a mile away. She screamed again as a hand touched her shoulder.

"Uh, sorry," a man said, sounding a little confused by her response. "I-- I didn't mean to... what are you doing?"

She turned to look at the man, her own confusion just as high as his. It was the guy from the TV. The guy with the glasses. He looked behind him briefly, like he wasn't sure where he was, or why.

Willow frowned with him, crossing her arms over her chest. Which was bare. Why was it bare? Where were her clothes? There had been some clothing on her earlier. She thought back, trying to remember the last time she'd had clothes on. They'd gone through the stargate into a pyramid and she'd had clothes then. Fatigues even. And all through the running and the hiding from aliens. But now she didn't. Huh.

"What are you doing?" the man repeated, gesturing to her lack of clothing. "Where's your towel? All SG1 operatives must wear towels at all times. And a gun." He looked pointedly at her lack of a towel. And gun.

Willow nodded. They were all there, wearing their fluffy yellow towels, but hers was missing. "Sorry, I-- I don't know where mine is. Can someone tell me where it is?" She looked around the pyramid, searching desperately for her towel. If she didn't find it, she'd be reprimanded and not be able to work with her friends anymore. She wanted to work with them, wanted to be friends with them. Needed them. "I can't find it," she said frantically, dropping to the dirt floor and digging with her hands. Shoveling the dusty ground wasn't helping. She looked around quickly and picked up the dust buster, sucking up the dust with it. "Help me find it!" she implored them. "I can't find my... my towel, where is it? I don't want to be fired." She looked over at the big guy, who was emotionless and staring straight ahead. "Help me!" she screamed. "Help me find my--"

"--self," Spike said in annoyance.

She stopped digging and looked over her shoulder at him. "What?" He was no longer naked. He too had on a towel. Everyone had one but her.

"I said, find it yourself," he repeated, eyeing the blond woman with a leer. "You are looking quite delicious," he muttered, reaching out to touch her bare back. His face vamped out and he nipped lightly at her neck.

"Sir?" she queried MacGuyver, frowning over her shoulder at Spike, who was standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he dropped his mouth to her shoulder. He bent down a little to hold her better, like a lover.

Willow scowled at him, feeling jealousy flare up in her. "Fickle vampire," she muttered, resuming her digging.

The woman spoke again, ignoring Spike. "I think we need to get out of here. The reactor's going to blow, and if we're still here when it does..." she shrugged, looking glum, "unknown bad things will happen to us."

"Unknown bad things?" the colonel asked, the resigned look on his face tightening the smallest bit. "We need to go. Now."

Willow got to her feet, intending to follow them through the entrance, but the colonel turned back to her and shook his head. "Not you. You need to, uh..." he looked around with just his eyes, stopping on the dust buster on the ground at her feet, "vacuum up that popcorn. Then you can come. The rest of you, you're with me. Let's go!"

Willow watched them go. Spike was the last one out the entrance, turning back to her sadly.

"Hurry up with that." His eyes dropped to the vacuum at her feet.

She looked down at all the popcorn littering the pyramid floor and sighed, bending down to get to work on the mess. "Wait for me," she beseeched Spike, but he shook his head.

"Can't do that. It's now or never. Got places to go, people to kill." He started out the entrance, still facing her, fading into the night beyond.

"Spike, wait!" she yelled, crying now as she tried desperately to vacuum up all the pieces of white fluff. But they seemed to be multiplying. For every piece she vacuumed up, three more appeared. "Please," she sobbed, "I don't want to be alone. Please come back." Dropping the dust buster to the dirt floor, she sobbed into her hands. "I don't want to be alone."

********

Willow woke up with a sob, staring at the couch arm through teary eyes. The TV was still on, playing low. The lamp beside the couch was shining brightly, hurting her eyes. A shudder shook her body as she hitched in a breath. Nice, vivid dreams, a byproduct of her guilty conscience. Sighing into her crossed arms, she pushed herself into a sitting position, hissing at the pain as her skin stretched tight.

Looking around, she was somewhat relieved not to see Spike, naked or not. Just a popcorn-covered floor. Clicking the TV off, she rested her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, purposely sitting through the pain that flared up. It got her mind off of things. Kept her from thinking too much.

"Willow, are you-- Willow?"

Willow raised her head and stared at Giles, who went from looking concerned to sorrowful. He moved to the couch and sat beside her.

"Buffy asked that I stop by to make sure you were all right." He glanced at her and smiled the tiniest bit. "I'd say she had reason to be concerned." He stood up, removing his jacking and grabbing a box of tissues from the side table. He pulled a few out and handed one to her. "Your nose is bleeding."

She took the tissue and wiped the blood from her nose, but stayed silent, still fighting tears. It was a constant battle. After a few minutes, she sniffed and sighed. "It's just a nightmare. I've... I've been having nightmares," she admitted.

"Good." He smiled for real this time, looking relieved. When she frowned and opened her mouth to ask him why it was good that she was suffering through nightmares, he patted her arm awkwardly. "I'd be concerned if you weren't having nightmares, Willow."

"Why?" She hated them. They always made her feel so... useless and hopeless. Like a vital piece of her was missing, left somewhere, lost in the dream.

"They show that you're remorseful."

"I am," she sighed. "But not completely. That I took a life, a human life, is hard. It's... I lost something when I did that." She frowned, trying to find the words she wanted, but couldn't adequately describe what she meant. "But I'd do it again. Dawn is safe, and Buffy--"

Giles nodded, his smile gone, his eyes blank. "I know. If I could change it," he paused, looking straight at her, "I wouldn't." His head dropped a little, his eyes falling to his hands. "Except maybe to do it myself. This is hard for you, I know, for-- for all of us really, but I believe that it was necessary." He pushed himself to his feet and removed his jacket. "Who knows what may have happened if you hadn't stopped Glory." With barely a pause, he headed toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some?"

She thought about it, wondered if maybe it had all those healing qualities Giles sometimes acted like it had--heals the spirit, heals the soul--but decided against it. It just tasted so bland. "No, thanks. I have water." Her eyes fell to the table and the water bottle atop it.

That table had been pushed back in her dream, making room for Spike.

"All right. Back in a jiffy." He tossed his jacket on the banister as he passed by it and left her to bang around in the kitchen.

Willow's eyes were still fixed to the spot where Spike had been. Fully naked Spike. Why did that thought make her tingle? She was gay. Although, there was Oz. And Xander. So maybe she wasn't completely, one hundred percent, grade A gay.

Pushing herself slowly to her feet, she decided she needed some air, just for a few minutes. Somewhere to clear her head and think. Not about Ben for once, but about this new thing with Spike. Was there a new thing with Spike?

Usually when she thought about Spike it was with irritation and anger. Fury and fear. There weren't a lot of 'ooo, he makes me giggle like a little girl' thoughts. Sure, he was cute. Duh, anyone with eyes could see that, even Xander. But, did that mean she liked Spike? No. It meant she was aware of him.

Her bare feet padded softly across the carpet, and she thought about getting shoes, but it was way too much trouble. There'd be bending over factors, and she couldn't do that at the moment.

Opening the front door, she breathed in the cool night air, shivering slightly as a small gust of wind blew her hair across her face. She smiled and, leaving the door wide open, sat carefully on the porch steps, well within the pool of light coming from inside. The cement under her feet was cool, but felt wonderful against her skin. Crossing her arms over her chest, she breathed in deeply, smelling trees and flowers, growing things.

Alive things. Dirt and-- rain? Hadn't rained in a while, it'd be nice for a change.

Okay. So if she was aware of Spike, so what? Out here in the night air, feeling refreshed and alive for the first time in days, the thought of her being attracted to Spike wasn't a horrible one. A little scary, a little creepy, but... not too crazy.

"Maybe that gay thing comes with a money back guarantee," she whispered to herself.

Bisexual. That was a new title for her. She'd never thought of herself as being bisexual. It was straight, and then gay. There'd been no in-between. But now... well, maybe there was an in-between. Maybe gender didn't matter as long as the feelings were there.

That made her smile. She was an equal opportunity lover. Titles were so confining. To hell with them. She'd be... Willow. Just, Willow. Lover of all genders. And species? Werewolf, human, witch... and now vampire? Was there something there?

Thinking about Spike now, after he'd helped carry her home and explain things to Buffy and Giles... sat with Dawn while the others talked to her... there wasn't as much anger and fear as there used to be. A little less of the irritation. He was... a friend. Hm. Friend. A vampire friend. Spike, the vampire friend. Sure, it was weird, but was it any more weird than having Angel as a friend?

Yes. Angel had a soul. Spike didn't.

So, she liked a soulless killer who hated her. Definitely made her weird.

But... he was cute. Oh, yeah, that was the argument that would win it. She could just imagine her explaining things to Buffy and Xander. They'd say, 'But, Willow, he's a soulless killer, killer of humans and despite the fact that you are now too,' okay, maybe they wouldn't add that last part, but the gist of the idea was there. They'd say, 'He's evil.'

She'd come back with her brilliant reply of, 'But... he's cute.' and that would be the clincher. They'd smile and celebrate, planning a wedding fit for a queen.

In fairytale land, which was where she was currently residing apparently.

Oy. Okay, so the cute thing didn't enter into it except to notice it. There were other things. He'd helped them a lot lately. Although, yes, he mostly did it for money, for blood, or for his own personal gain, he'd still done it.

Then he'd done it for Buffy. She was what was keeping him around now.

"Oh," she whispered. "Buffy. Kinda forgot about that."

Well, that was the end of that. He loved Drusilla. Loved Buffy. Had a girlfriend. It was idiotic to think of any kind of relationship with Spike. If she did have feelings for him, she'd simply ignore them.

Sighing into the cool air, she inhaled deeply, loving the smell of rain in the air.


	7. Chapter 7

"Spike?" Willow said softly, her voice low.

He looked up from his book, seeing her standing in front of him, still dressed in the pink sweater and jeans. He'd have to get her some new clothes, maybe pilfer a few of the real Willow's clothes. "Hmm?" he inquired, going back to his book.

In the week he'd had her, she'd been a nice distraction to his Buffy obsession, throwing herself at him at every opportunity. But it got old after a while. Talk was in no way overrated. Neither was a good book. The sex was all well and good, but it was getting to be all he did anymore. Glory was out of the way now, and there was one less bad guy to worry about, so... now what?

Back to the old way of life. With Willow-sex. Lots of Willow-sex. And though that was anything but undesirable, it did get to be annoying when one's life consisted of sleeping, waking up and having sex. Patrolling, coming back home and having sex. Having more sex, and then a little sex before sleeping again.

She moved closer, toying with the hem of her sweater. "Shouldn't we go meet the others at the Magic Box?"

"No," he answered, lifting his book for her to see. "I'm reading. We'll, uh... we'll go later." Frowning as he looked around the crypt, he realized there was nothing interesting for her to do, and if he didn't find something for her, she'd eventually go seek out the others on her own. He could only put her off for a while before she started wondering why he wouldn't take her there. Or let her go herself. "I'll pick you up some books later tonight. Find something for you to--"

"Magick books?" she asked excitedly, dropping into his lap, startling him. "I'd like that very much, Spike. I love you. You please me so much."

"Mm," he mumbled, letting her kiss him softly on the lips. "Why don't you go watch the telly or something, love?"

She smiled widely, sliding her hand under his shirt. "We could have sex. I like having sex with you. You're virile and have the stamina of a--"

"Willow." He grabbed her hand from under his shirt and sighed. "I'm reading. Why don't you... oh, hey," he gasped, looking down at her hand currently caressing him through his jeans. His eyes flickered to hers, seeing the sly grin working its way to her lips. "Cheater," he whispered, leaning forward to nip her lip with his teeth.

"I don't cheat," she protested, "I only love--" her head went straight suddenly, her eyes losing focus. They cleared a second later, and she tried to continue. "I lo-- I lo-- I looooooooo--" her voice grew deeper, winding down as it ground to a halt.

Spike sat back and grabbed her head with his hands, holding it up. "Willow?" He stood up, taking her with him, setting her gently on the floor, where she sagged completely, staring sightlessly at the chair in front of her. "Willow?"

Guess she'd run out of power. Huh, he'd forgotten about that.

Sighing in relief, he picked her up and carried her to the trap door in the floor. Throwing her over his shoulder, he went carefully down the ladder and laid her on the small mattress he'd found a few days before. She flopped to the mattress, looking deader than him. Her eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, her body going completely limp.

Straightening her, hating that she looked so lifeless, he smoothed her hair back from her face and opened the panel in her stomach. Pulling the big black cord from her insides, feeling like he was eviscerating her, he quickly plugged her into the wall socket beside his TV extension cord, and knelt beside her.

While she was sleeping, he should go out. Get some clothes for her, some books, maybe a few spell ingredients for her to play with. Didn't want her to think he didn't support her witchy abilities. Chuckling, he climbed the ladder and shut the trap door, scooting his chair over to rest on it. Just in case.

********

Books of the wiccan variety could be found in many places. Giles' shop, the library, the college, Willow's house... Tara's room. Anywhere just about. However, he also wanted some advice on magick for someone just starting out. He didn't actually think the Willow bot had any skills or magick in her, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

So, he was headed to talk to Willow. That he wanted to see her, the real her, didn't enter into it. He knew she was fine, from Buffy, from Xander and Dawn, and everyone else he'd seen since Willow killed Ben. But he hadn't seen her in that time.

Not the real her. She was... different from his bot. He could immediately tell the difference between the two when he saw Willow sitting on the steps of Buffy's porch. This Willow, even hurt and down in the dumps, had more life in her than the bot did on her best, most perky days.

Tossing his cigarette to the street, he stood and watched Willow unobserved for a few seconds. She didn't look too bad off. Her posture was a bit stiff and she winced once when shifting her feet, but as she rested against the brick pillar at the top of the steps, he knew she was healing.

He hadn't seen the damage himself, but according to Dawn it was, 'way wicked gross'. And painful.

She was sitting in a pool of light from the house, the door wide open behind her. Her eyes were closed, her head resting on the brick pillar. Her loose white blouse was hanging a little too loosely on one side, exposing more than just her shoulders and arms to anyone who passed by. Like him. Stupid chit, baring herself to all and sundry. Rolling his eyes, he continued down the sidewalk and across the lawn.

"Nice show you got going there," he said loudly, startling her out of her reverie. He stopped in front of the steps, shoving his hands in his duster pockets as she gingerly sat up straighter, frowning at him.

"What?" She cleared her throat and looked around a little in confusion. "It's going to rain."

"Right," he said in his own confusion. "Is that due to you flashing the neighborhood? Is it a rain ritual? Show the world your goodies and it rains?" He chuckled at her, motioning toward her blouse.

She looked down with a frown, and quickly fixed her shirt. "Funny. No, it's... no." She looked up at him, sighing in... not annoyance this time. That was a start, wasn't it? "Buffy's not here."

He took the steps one at a time and sat across from her. "Not here to see her. I was looking for advice on magick. Books specifically." He sat facing her, one foot on the step, one on the porch, his back resting against his own brick pillar. Pulling out a cigarette, he stuck it in his mouth before remembering he'd just had one. Slipping his lighter back into his pocket, he left the unlit cigarette in his mouth, hoping it'd soothe the minor craving.

"Magick books?" she said, turning to face him slowly. "Why?"

"A, uh, friend of mine is studying magick. Thought I'd get her some books on it." He slid his eyes past her curious ones and fixed them on the chairs to the side. Peeling white paint and rusted metal. Not as interesting as green eyes with a hint of hazel, but... sighing, he chanced a glance her way again.

She was watching him, still curious. "Magick, uh, it's not really my area of expertise." She laughed shortly, without humor and dropped her eyes to her hands. "Obviously." Spreading her hands out as far as she could with her sore back, she shook her head and shrugged. "Behold the power that is Willow. In all her supposed glory."

"What are you talking about? Of course it's your area... it's-- it's your thing. It's what you do." He sat forward, taking the cigarette from his lips and setting it on the cement beside him. "You're the witch of the group."

"I am." She straightened up, leaning her back against the stone with a groan and a hiss. "But I don't _know_ enough about it not to screw up every... single..." she paused, shifting against the stone, "every spell I do." She closed her eyes, hiding the pain from him, hiding the gasp, but not being able to hide the smell of blood.

"What are you doing?" He climbed to his feet to yank her from the pillar. She fell forward limply, resting against her knees, giving him a nice view of her bruised and bloodied back. There were new scrapes and she was bleeding. "Hey, I'm all for a spot of torture. But self-mutilation is just plain stupid."

"Self-mutilation?" she laughed, her voice muffled by her hands and sweat pants. "I'm not trying to hurt myself. It's this stupid porch, it's not designed for invalids." She sighed, scooting away from the pillar. "And, I forgot my shirt was, um, missing parts of it."

Spike was currently noticing that even more than a moment before. His fingers, resting on her right shoulder, the only uninjured part of her back, tightened on the warm, bare flesh. His other hand, pretty much of its own volition, traced lightly against one of the new scrapes, sliding through the warm, wet blood and going straight to his mouth. "Your back's just... one giant bruise, isn't it?"

"What?" Her voice was still muffled and low enough that he barely paid it any attention. But the surprised tone did reach him.

She pushed against his hold, trying to straighten up, but he held her still for another second, just long enough to run his fingers over the scrapes again, scooping up a drop of blood.

"I said," he repeated, "your back's just--"

"--one giant bruise, isn't it?" she finished for him. Turning to look over her shoulder, she noticed his finger in his mouth and shuddered a bit. In disgust? "I dreamed you said that."

He shrugged, feeling the haze of bloodlust settle over him more firmly. God, to be able to just tear into her throat and go at it... those were the days. Realizing she was watching him, waiting for him to say something, he shrugged again and sat down, slipping his unlit cigarette into his duster pocket. "It's not that strange a thing for a vampire to say."

"You also did that," she told him, nodding to his hand. "Had an unlit cigarette and stuck in your pocket."

"It's not that strange a thing for a smoker to do." Actually, it was. For him anyway. He didn't obey non-smoking laws and such, so he lit up whenever and wherever he wanted to. But tonight he didn't. "You getting Buffy's prophetic dreams then?"

She shook her head, turning to look inside the doorway. "No. I don't get Buffy's... anything." A small frown turned her lips down, her eyes losing focus for a moment before she shrugged. "I just thought it was weird. That's all."

He nodded, agreeing that it was weird. But not enough to assemble the Scoobie Gang and have a meeting about it. Still, it was a bit unusual. "What else did I do in this dream?" he asked, making sure to leer to cover up his real curiosity.

Her chuckle was less derisive than usual. Less with the anger and fear. "Well, there was a salve that Giles had you bring over, for my back, and there was nakedness," she said in a rush, hurrying right past that part. "You said it smelled like the sewers and--"

"Willow, I whipped up... Spike. Why are you here?" Giles' voice held all the irritation Willow's hadn't. And the derisiveness. He held something in his hand as he stood in the lit doorway, scowling at Spike.

"You whipped what?" Willow asked, frowning at him, squinting at the jar in his hand.

"Yeah, Rupes, what is it that you whipped?" He snickered loudly, making it clear what he was insinuating.

Giles rolled his eyes and sighed, stepping forward, toward Willow. He ignored Spike completely. "A salve. For your back. It smells a bit, I'm afraid, quite like the sewers, but..." seeing Spike and Willow's attention suddenly perk up, he frowned. "What?"

"I dreamed that too." She struggled to stand up.

Giles stepped forward and reached out a hand to help her up. She accepted the help, but stood on her own after reaching her feet.

"Okay, that was weird. If I sink into the carpet and end up in a pyramid, then I plan on freaking out. Everyone okay with that?" She headed inside, walking slowly.

Spike watched her, his eyes on her back. It was beautiful. So many colors and the blood... closing his eyes with a sigh, a sigh that held all his pent-up frustrations, he followed her to the doorway and tried to go inside, completely forgetting about being uninvited.

He bounced off the barrier, knocking himself back a foot. Staring at the invisible thing keeping him from entering, he nodded, feeling the anger rising up in him. "Right then. I'll just--"

"Come in, Spike," Willow called back, ignoring Giles' frown and muttered protest.

"Sorry, love, that only works from someone who lives here." He stepped back another foot, intending to go and beat on a few demons that were unlucky enough to get in his way. "I appreciate the gesture, though." His glare fell on Giles. "At least one of you's decent."

"I do live here," Willow tossed back, continuing her slow journey to the living room.

Spike glanced at Giles, noting the tense jaw, the narrowed eyes. Ah, felt like home again. Stepping cautiously toward the door, he put his hand where the barrier should be and felt no resistance. Stepping over the threshold, he smirked his way past Giles and into the front room. "Thanks," he muttered, a little more respectful toward Willow than he had been to Giles.

He just... liked her more.

She tossed him a glance as she stretched a hand down, lowering herself to the couch carefully. "Try to be nice, Spike."

"In other words, don't try to kill us," Giles interjected, his tone hard.

He was so tired of the threats. Tired of needing to be told not to kill someone. He got it. And he couldn't do it anyway. "I'll get a headache the size of Texas. I'm not stupid."

"That's debatable," Giles said briskly, brushing past Spike like he was nothing more than an annoying house pet. He set his small jar of salve on the coffee table and sat beside it, causing the wood to creak under his weight. He faced Willow, his look one of disapproval. "You shouldn't have done that, Willow. This isn't your home, you don't know what Buffy--"

"He's here, isn't he?" she interrupted, gesturing toward Spike as he sat on the arm of the couch.

Spike glanced up briefly, looking away from her back, which he was in perfect view of. Nice scenery. "Means she does live here," he added for Giles' benefit.

"Yes, I know what it means," Giles said acidly, his imperious stare doing its level best to cut right through Spike. "Buffy asked you to uninvite him for a reason."

"Yes, she did," Willow agreed. "And then she trusted him enough to send Dawn and Joyce to stay with him. I don't think she'll mind too much." She looked to the jar of green salve on the table. "What is that?"

Giles sighed and grabbed the jar, twisting the lid off. "An herbal salve I made for your back. It should help heal it." He got a whiff of it and twisted his face up in revulsion. "Unfortunately, it stinks to high heaven. I didn't take the time to pretty it up for you, sorry."

Willow shrugged, eyeing the jar of toxic-looking paste. "That's, uh, that's okay. I can handle stink." When Giles scooped his fingers into it, her eyes opened wide and she moved backward a bit. "You're not gonna put it on, uh, are you?" She winced and looked up at him, biting her lip hesitantly.

Spike brightened a bit. She didn't want Giles putting it on, and since he was the only other person around... looked like he'd be getting a little more touchy-feely from Willow. "I'll do it," he offered.

"Well, yes, I was going to," Giles told Willow, wiping his fingers off on the edge of the jar. He darted a glance up at her and noticed her fidgeting. "Oh, does that bother you?" He frowned, wiping more of the salve off the side of his index finger. "I just thought... but that's all right. I suppose it's rather an awkward... yes. Okay, I'll just go wash this off."

"I'll do it," Spike said louder, standing up to take his duster off. He threw it over the banister in the foyer and strolled back into the room, expecting Willow to be thanking him and smiling. She wasn't. She was frowning after Giles.

"Giles," she called as he started up the stairs. Giles paused and she continued. "I didn't mean to-- you're all father-ish, and it would be kind of icky." She sighed and shrugged. "It's a me-thing. Nothing against you."

Giles chuckled and pushed his glasses up with an un-coated finger. "That's quite all right, I, um, I understand completely." He laughed a little, sharing a cute little smile with Willow, bonding over their shared embarrassment.

But, hello, what about Spike? He was standing there, waiting for someone to notice him, and allow him to rub stuff all over Willow. He'd offered twice. Once more and then he'd leave. He didn't need this. He had his own Willow waiting for him at home... recharging her battery.

"I'll--" he began, seeing Willow roll her eyes in amusement. Aha. So she wasn't as unobservant as he was beginning to think she was.

"Okay, Spike. Okay." She twisted on the couch, turning her back to him. "Rub me down. In-- in a... non-sexual kinda way having nothing to do with anything in that, uh, that way."

"Lie down," he ordered, tilting his head to the side as he watched her. She was acting nervous. Very nervous. Was it fear or something more? And what was the babbling about? Her heart rate was skyrocketing, about to take off into outer space. Her skin was heating up as well, he could feel it even a foot away from her, and see the slight pale skin change to a pink hue. "You okay?" he asked her, wondering if she'd hurt herself lying down.

"Fine," she mumbled, stretching out on the couch without moving too much. "I'm good. Are you okay?" She chuckled derisively, groaning softly. "Of course you're all right. You're not hurt. I'm the hurt one, and-- and... no, I'm fine." She shoved her face into her crossed arms and groaned again. "Shut up," she mumbled to herself, forgetting he had super hearing.

Spike kept himself from laughing, but just barely. She did nervous so well. Her heart rate, her pulse, the heat and color of her skin, all accompanying her bruised and bloodied back... he was in a place near heaven. She shifted slightly, anticipating his touch, tensing her muscles. He watched them move under her skin, raising it in spots, dipping down in others.

Grabbing the jar from the table, he unscrewed the lid and scooped out a fair amount of the green goo, working it between his hands to warm it a bit before slowly reaching down to touch her back. Her skin, so soft and supple, was smooth and tender, scraped in a few spots, but very similar to the bot's.

"Oh, cold," she muttered, tensing some more. "Very cold."

"Sorry." His hands were cold, as much as the salve was, so they hadn't warmed it up much. Lack of body heat and circulation did that to a person. He smoothed his hands down her shoulders, rubbing the smooth goo into her muscles, but not pressing hard enough to cause discomfort. The heat from her back was warming his hands as they moved on her.

Shoulders, shoulder blades and down to her waist. He repeated the movements a few times, rubbing in a fair amount of it as he went. He was turned sideways, at an awkward angle, and he wished he'd told her to lie on the floor, so he could straddle her legs. Not out of any wish to touch her more, but to have better access.

And the moon was made of cheese.

It was probably a good thing he couldn't straddle her, because he was getting turned on. Being with the bot, essentially feeling this woman moving underneath him as he pleasured them both, seeing her face, hearing her voice as she came, god, it was a thing of beauty.

Hearing her tell him she loved him. That was what always did it for him. He was a sap and he knew it, but he couldn't help it. He was, and forever would be, love's bitch.

This Willow, the real one, the one he was currently caressing with every ounce of enjoyment he could stand without stripping her and plunging inside of her... she was moaning softly. With every touch of his hands, every stroke of his fingers on her back, she made a small sound in the back of her throat.

"That feels good," she mumbled, sighing into her arms. "I could use a good masseur. You free every day for the next thirty years?"

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her neck before realizing what he was doing. He jerked back into a sitting position, just as he heard footsteps on the stairs. Thank God he hadn't kissed her. Resuming his stroking in a business-like manner, he cleared his throat.

"Willow, are you insane?" Giles asked sharply, coming into the room. "He's--"

"Really, really good at this," she mumbled, moaning loudly when Spike worked the stiff muscles in her shoulders. "What'd you put in this stuff?" she asked Giles, turning her head to look at him over her shoulder.

Giles moved around the table so he could see Willow better and watch Spike's hands to make sure they weren't going in places they shouldn't be. "Nothing of any importance really. Just a few demon scales, some ground up dried eye of newt, and, uh... sage," he finished quietly.

Willow stiffened suddenly, her eyes narrowing on Giles. "You think I'm evil?" she asked softly, and Spike could hear the tremble in her voice.

"What's that about?" he asked, glaring at Giles for somehow causing Willow's sudden change in mood.

"Sage is used for cleansing evil," Willow mumbled, turning her head to the back of the couch so she wouldn't have to look at the accusation in Giles' face.

There was none though. Spike could've told her that, but he didn't. He stayed silent, letting Willow think the worst of Giles. He frowned at his hands, still moving slowly along her back, feeling the tingling of medicinal things going to work, and had a horrible thought. "Uh, hey, the sage won't effect me, will it?"

Giles snorted rudely and removed his glasses, taking a cloth from his pocket to clean them. "No, Spike, your evil isn't the kind that can be ousted by a little herb. More's the pity." He sighed and replaced his glasses, squinting through them in irritation when they remained dirty. "And Willow, I put the sage in there for its calming effect. It soothes tense muscles and nerves, promotes wisdom and cleanses evil." He moved closer, frowning at her. "Willow."

Spike tossed him another glare, hiding his smirk behind a concerned frown. "Haven't you done enough?" Maybe, if he was lucky, Willow and Giles would argue and then Giles would storm out and leave him alone with her.

To do what? he wondered suddenly, sitting up straighter.

What the hell was he thinking? He had enough women on his plate to try to tempt Willow into bed with him too. Even if she did smell good. Although, there was no cinnamon and apple this time, he realized. Leaning down a little, hoping Giles didn't notice him surreptitiously sniffing Willow, he turned his head to look out the window and inhaled slowly, closing his eyes to concentrate.

Not cinnamon and apples, definitely not that this time. But what was it? Sort of... vanilla-like. Scented candles? Shampoo? Soap? What the hell was making her smell the way she did?

"You're done, Spike." Giles' voice cut through Spike's concentration, making him remember where he was and what he was doing.

Good thing too, because his hands were getting a little close to her breasts. Clearing his throat, he nodded, standing up and heading toward the foyer. "Gonna... wash up," he muttered. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hurried down the hall and into the bathroom, washing his hands as fast as inhumanly possible. Drying them on the pink towel on the rack, he turned to the shower and inspected the bottles.

Uncapping and sniffing each one in turn, he found Dawn's shampoo and conditioner as well as her soap and moisturizer. And Buffy's as well. As tempting as it was to steal Buffy's, he left them there and spun around, looking for Willow's things. She'd showered recently, but not in here. He could only smell a faint hint of her in this room.

If she was living here, she was staying in Joyce's room, right? Quietly, stealthily, he made his way down the hall, hurrying as fast as he dared. Joyce's door was open. He stepped inside, smelling Willow all over the place. Soap, shampoo, sweat, blood, tears... and an elusive scent that was all hers, but he couldn't identify it. It was just... her.

Skirting around the bed, he darted into the bathroom, taking note of all the bottles of shampoo and conditioner he spotted. He'd buy them for his robot, and the soap too. Vanilla-scented.

He picked it up and sniffed, frowning when he smelled lilac, not vanilla. What the hell? Where was that smell coming from then? The shampoo was some flowery concoction and the conditioner was the same. Bloody hell. Perfume?

He went back into the bedroom and moved toward the door, listening for sounds of someone approaching, but all was quiet except for Giles and Willow talking. Their heartbeats were faint and distant still, so he was safe for the moment. On the dresser was an array of perfume bottles, but he could tell without even nearing them that none of them were what she'd used.

Spinning around in frustration, he sighed and headed back out, but stopped halfway to the door. Yanking open the top drawer of her dresser, he dug through the clothing inside. Panties and underwear. Nice.

Stuffing a pair of lacy red panties and matching bra into his jean pocket, he knew he'd never get away with it. There was a big bulge in his jeans, making him look way too happy.

Window.

Grabbing a blouse from the closet, he tossed them out the window, hoping they landed on the ground rather than the roof. Be a bit of a bother to explain to Buffy or Willow or Dawn why he was walking along their roof if he was caught.

Walking quickly out of the room and down the hall, he prided himself on being sneaky. Nothing like a bit of theft and deception to put him in a good mood. Except blood. But this was good too.

Taking the stairs down with a bounce in his step, he paused, listening to the conversation before rejoining them. They were quietly talking. Actually, Willow was sniffling and crying while Giles did his best to calm her down.

"Like to make the girls cry, don't you?" he tossed at Giles, loving the furious glare that was aimed his way. Ah, felt almost like old times.

"Oh, do shut up," Giles ground out, still glaring at him from his spot on the couch beside Willow.

She sniffed once or twice and stared at her hands, which were sandwiched between her knees. "Spike," she began, looking over at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he sighed, "Spike, quit being annoying." Well, it was time to make his exit. He had clothes to pick up, shopping to do, and a robot to check on. He'd gotten in some quality Willow-rubbing. Not a bad night at all.

"Uh, no," Willow said in confusion. "Ac-- actually I was going to thank you, but since you probably don't want to hear it, with you being evil and all, then I won't. But I do."

"You do?" he asked, frowning at her. She was thanking him? Well, didn't that beat all? He rarely, if ever, got thanked for doing something. Let alone something so simple as rubbing ointment on someone's back. And enjoying it as he did so. "Do what?"

"Thank you." She shrugged, wincing a little at the movement of her shoulders.

"Oh. Well, good. I mean, you're welcome." He was a vampire; he didn't do niceties. It wasn't his thing. If she needed someone to tear a throat out and bring body parts back to her, he was the man for the job, but thanking people? It was actually kind of nice though. Felt good. "I'm going now. Uh, where's Buffy?" he asked on his way out.

Didn't want to run into her somewhere carrying Willow's stuff. She was nosey and was bound to find them no matter where he put them on his person.

"She said something about another woman being killed in the park near Ridge," Willow said absently.

Spike stopped his retreat and turned around, raising an inquiring eyebrow at Giles. "Another one?"

Giles nodded, telling Spike with just his eyes that Willow still didn't know. "Possibly. I saw the taped-off area on my way home from here and got a glimpse of a dead woman. So I sent Buffy to find out."

"Find out what?" Willow asked, looking curiously from one to the other. "Are we thinking vampire? Or something worse?"

"Something worse," Giles and Spike said in unison.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I'm making no money from it.

"Remember the spell I was doing before the magick dust?" Willow asked, sighing as she tried to settle back against the couch cushions. Finally giving up on that, she rested her arm on the arm of the couch and propped her head in her hand.

"Not the specifics, since you never told me that part, but yeah. The condor feather one." Spike sat back down in front of her, taking Giles' previous seat on the coffee table.

Giles had left a few minutes before, heading off to the magic shop. He'd glared pointedly at Spike, waiting for him to take his leave as well, but Spike had decided he didn't want to go yet. A witch hunter was out there and Willow wasn't in tiptop shape at the moment. She could do with a little protection.

Giles pulled Spike to the door with him and told him that he could stay until Buffy returned.

Wow. Wasn't that spectacularly kind of him?

Spike had imagined planting his fist in Giles' face, watching as blood poured from his broken nose, dripping to the floor in a beautiful red gush. Oh, what nirvana. The image drifted away as Giles slammed the door shut, but the feelings he'd invoked in Spike didn't. He was furious at the assumption that Giles could tell him to do anything.

He was his own bloody person. In charge of himself and the people around him. He was... not in the best shape himself, just like Willow. When he got his chip out, then he'd make the pathetic ex-watcher pay. Until then, he headed back into the front room with Willow.

"Giles did some research on the spell and the ingredients I used." She shrugged, gazing past him to the room beyond. "Apparently Lornack eyes are no longer offered to gods and goddesses because it gets them drunk. Or drugged. According to Giles, wars and disasters have taken place due to the offering of Lornack eyes."

Spike shrugged, wondering where she was going with this. His mind was still stuck on the witch hunter out there, killing witches for their power. Burning holes in their foreheads to suck the power out and then leaving behind a dead husk of a person. If this latest girl was killed the same way, she'd be the third.

Why weren't they protecting Willow better than they were? Why did they let her sit outside on the porch, alone, unaware of what was out there?

"I didn't know. Giles said the book I got the spell from was an old one, so it didn't have a warning. The only reason he knows now is because he's done research on it since I killed Ben."

"Killed Glory," Spike corrected absently, wondering if he should tell her about the hunter. Forewarned was forearmed. If she knew about the threat, she could protect herself, right? Why were they keeping her in the dark?

And why in bloody hell did he care so much?

Because she smelled good wasn't going to cut it. Even if it was real nice. He obviously cared about her. Obvious if he wasn't a stupid, ignorant vampire obsessed with one woman and the smell that was coming off of this one. What the hell was that?

When she sat straighter, moving forward to stretch her back with a sigh of discomfort, he inhaled subtly. There it was again. Vanilla.

"How do you do that?" he asked suddenly, interrupting her musing. "Where is that coming from?" He was going to go insane trying to figure out how she got herself smelling like vanilla one day and apples and cinnamon the next, without external rubbish like perfume.

"Do what?" she asked slowly, tearing her eyes away from the far wall to look at him. To say she looked confused was a huge understatement. Lost adrift in a sea of confusion was closer to the truth.

"Smell like that," he said in frustration, leaning closer to sniff again. Definitely vanilla. With a hint of something else. Bloody hell! "What is that smell?"

"Oh." She sat forward a little, looking past him at something as she dropped her hands to her lap. "Um, the salve?" She darted a quick look to the table, raising her eyebrows in question. "Giles made it. You, uh, you don't like that smell... do you?" She shuddered, crinkling her face up in disgust. "It's really gross."

She was so close to him now. So close.

"Not that," he said in dismissal, his eyes dropping to her neck. It was there, on her neck. He inhaled deeply. There it was, so sweet and tasty smelling. He wanted to taste it, to taste her. She was absolutely delicious smelling. "You. You smell like... vanilla," he mumbled, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"I do?" She lifted her eyes to his, frowning at him as he leaned forward again. She looked a little fearful.

When her eyes dropped to his lips, he amended that thought. Not fearful. Huh. Her heart started to speed up again as her eyes raised back to his.

He nodded, swallowing thickly, resisting the urge to kiss her even though he really wanted to. More than anything. Without even realizing it, he was reaching for her arms, drawing her closer as he sat forward. Her eyes dropped again as he turned his head to the side, sniffing instead of kissing her.

Her breath caught in her throat and he knew she'd been expecting him to kiss her. Maybe even anticipated it. His cheek touched hers, his eyes dropping to her lips now. They were right there, so close to his own. He licked his lips, resisting the urge with all his waning willpower.

She sucked in a breath, her body shuddering lightly. Her small, white teeth nipped at her lower lip, drawing it into her mouth to worry at it as her breath left her in a sigh.

"Let me get that for you," he whispered, giving in. Pressing his lips to hers softly, he pulled at her lower lip with his own teeth, drawing the flesh into his mouth. Sucking on it gently, he slid his tongue over her lip and then into her mouth. She drew in another breath, sighing it out as he slid his hands down her neck and shoulders to slip around her back. Careful not to hurt her, he slipped his palms along her flesh, sliding his thumbs under the cloth covering her breasts.

His teeth worked at her lip a little more before opening his mouth on hers completely. Her tongue slid along his lip, then met his and pressed against him. One of them moaned and he couldn't be sure who. He wanted to moan, he wanted to pick her up and set her on his lap, to press her against his hardening erection. To drown in her scent as well as her body.

Instead, he drew away, staring down at her as he sucked in a breath. Holy... something or other. She'd gotten him hard from a kiss. A single, bloody kiss. Hard? he nearly laughed, he was more than hard. He had a raging hard-on and felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with a Trunkle demon. And the smell was still there, still wrapping around him, drawing him toward her.

She opened her eyes only now, exhaling sharply as he grabbed her arms again and pressed his mouth to hers. There was no softness this time, no gentleness. With all the force he could muster without hurting them both, he kissed her, thrusting his tongue between her lips to explore the soft recesses of her mouth. His teeth nipped at her lips, his tongue thrusting against hers, tangling with the flesh with abandon.

She moaned, and this time he was sure it was her, because he was too busy growling low in his throat to moan. Her hands planted themselves flat against his chest then gripped his T-Shirt, fisting in the black material, stretching the fabric as she pulled him closer, straining toward him. Her mouth worked against his just as feverishly as his was, opening wider with each breath as they tried to devour each other.

Something was happening to him. His hands, frantically working at the knot of her shirt, trying to untie it from her waist, were starting to tingle. His lips felt numb, but so full of pleasure. His breath was coming in pants, his whole body felt... energized.

Freeing the shirt finally, he slid his hands beneath the material, cupping her breasts with a sigh. She arched into his hands, moaning louder when he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples. She clawed his chest, clenching and unclenching her fingers. He stood up, shoving the table back with his foot and knelt on the floor, taking her with him. Popcorn crunched beneath him, smashing into the carpet.

Settling her on his lap with a satisfied groan, he was pleased to feel her wrap her legs around his waist with only a minor groan of discomfort. Sliding his hands up to her cheeks, he pulled back a little, looking down into her heated face, into eyes filled with desire. "Why do I want you so much?" he whispered to himself, frowning at her.

Her eyes widened and she climbed off his lap, crying out in pain as she scrambled away from him. She turned away, leaving him not just empty without her, but feeling alone as well. Climbing to his feet, he stared at her back, feeling a surge of desire shoot through him at the sight.

"You're gonna turn into Ben," she whispered, her shoulders dropping in defeat. "You're-- you're gonna become a decomposing, Glory-hair wearing, Ben corpse."

Spike burst out laughing, wondering where she'd come up with that image. "I don't have any plans to do that soon." He stepped closer, intending to touch her back, to slide his hand along the smooth, bruised flesh, but he halted his hand a few inches from her.

"I dreamed this too. I--" she spun around, wincing and then rolling her eyes in irritation. "You were more naked though. You turned into Ben. Rotting and decomposing, and the table was out there too. The popcorn." Her breathing was slowing down from their frantic making out session, but speeding up as well from panic. "What's happening?"

"Maybe it's a part of the magick. Left over from that night." He stepped closer, moving to stand in front of her when she tried to sidestep him. "What else happened in the dream? Anything we need to worry about?" He chuckled lowly, raising an eyebrow at her. "Am I gonna suddenly sport a tutu and dance the Nutcracker?"

She shook her head, a smile threatening to creep up her lips. "No, but if you suddenly find yourself in a fluffy yellow towel..." she shrugged, smiling lopsidedly, "don't say I didn't warn you."

He chuckled in amusement. "Thanks for the warning--"

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, frowning again. "Why did I let you kiss me? Why with the-- the touching and the..." she looked down at her hands. "You should probably go. I'm tired." She sat on the couch, dropping stiffly to the cushions with a sigh. "Thanks again." Her head shot up, her eyes darting away from his quickly. "Not for the kissing... but the, um, salve. And-- and, I should go. You're tired. I mean. Um, I'm tired, you should go. So, I'll see you." She looked up, smiling and nodding, bobbing her head up and down, straining her lips to the edges of a smile that was quickly turning into a grimace.

He nodded, agreeing with her wholeheartedly. He should go. Walk out the door and leave her behind, leave behind that smell that was once again drifting toward him. Instead, he pushed the table back to its rightful position and headed into the kitchen for the trash can.

He heard her exhale sharply and quickly draw in another breath as he rooted under the cabinets for the trash. It was under the sink, along with a dust buster. He had to do something. He felt like he needed to stay there, to protect her. To clean up to keep Buffy from knowing he'd just--

Dropping the trash can to the floor and the dust buster to the table, he paced away a few feet and returned. Okay, so he'd made out with Willow. Big deal. He had a Willow robot at home that he'd had sex with too many times to count, why was this any different?

Well, that was bloody obvious. This Willow was real. A real human being with real friends that could kill him. With real weapons. And he was supposed to be in love with her best friend. Not her. Willow was just... someone to use. That's all she was. He could use her and be done with it. Like a plastic cup. Use her and trash her.

Nodding to himself, he grabbed the trash can and dust buster, heading back into the front room.

As soon as he saw Willow, kneeling on the floor, gathering the crushed popcorn into a pile on the carpet, he knew he was lying to himself. He could never do that to her. Not anymore. She was someone he cared about, wanted, needed. As soon as he cleaned this mess up and Buffy returned home, he would head to his crypt and have fantastic sex with the substitute Willow waiting for him.

Without looking up, Willow pushed a few more pieces of white into her small pile. "You've got a dust buster in your hand, don't you?"

Spike glanced down at the small red vacuum as he set the trash can beside the couch. "Yeah."

"Dreamed that too." She scooped her pile of popcorn into her hands and dropped them into the trash can. "So, what, I'm Psychic Girl now? Precognitive Girl?" She brushed her hands off and held one out for the dust buster.

He started to hand it to her, but thought it might be quicker and easier if he did it himself. "I've got it. I can move better than you."

"You're a lot nicer than dream-you," she said absently, climbing to her feet with a groan. The ends of her blouse trailed down her sweat pants, hanging loose.

His eyes automatically moved up, trying to get a glimpse of flesh he'd felt and could still feel in his palms. The bot paled in comparison to the real thing, but she'd have to do for now. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he knelt down and turned the small vacuum on, running it across the floor.

Smashed and crushed pieces of popcorn got sucked into the small appliance, leaving behind the smell of burning kernels. The humming of the vacuum kept them from making small talk, for which he was somewhat grateful.

What could he possibly say to her anyway? 'Sorry I kissed you breathless and came _this_ close to shagging you sore.'

Once the floor was shining and sparkling like new, as much as a carpet could, he took the trash can and dust buster back to the kitchen and put them away. Turning the water on, he absently washed his hands and rinsed them, taking his time as he thought about what to do next. He didn't feel like talking and was positive that if he went back out there and sat down, Willow would want to talk.

To ask him what the hell he'd be thinking. Since he couldn't answer the question for himself, he had no hopes of answering it enough for her. So, he dried his hands off and quietly headed into the foyer to grab his cigarettes from his duster.

He tossed a look into the front room, seeing Willow in the same spot as she'd been before, staring at nothing. Doing nothing. Her left hand was playing with the fingers of her right hand, but other than that... she'd zoned out sometime ago.

Taking his pack and his lighter out front, he sat on the porch and lit one, inhaling deeply to rid himself of the smell and taste of Willow. The nicotine entered his lungs, filling them with noxious black smoke and it wasn't enough.

He could still smell her. Still taste the unique flavor of her lips and her mouth. It was so different from the bot. From Harmony and Drusilla. Different even than Buffy from when they'd been engaged. Quite a few lip-locks had happened during that one fateful night, and he still had the memory of her taste imprinted on his mind.

But Willow was different.

Sweeter, saltier, more. Everything about her was just more than any other woman he'd been with. And that's what had him worried.

He bent his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs as he stared at the house across the street. A shadow walked in front of the lit window, pausing briefly to peer out the faded gold curtains. The old guy continued on his way, leaving the curtains swaying a bit as Spike pondered the mysteries of his attraction to Willow.

********

 

Willow listened carefully for the sound of Spike's return, wondering if she was more anxious for him to come back, or not come back. Either way, she was on edge right now.

Kissage. Spike kissage. What the heck was that about? Having just recently admitted to herself that she found him attractive did not give her the right to practically attack him at the first provocation. Sure, there'd been circumstances and reasons for what happened, not the least of which seemed to be his obsession with the way she smelled, but she was not allowed to just... make out with the first person to come along.

Pushing herself to her feet, she slowly made her way to the foyer. Her back felt rather numb and tingly, not as painful as it'd been earlier. Most of the pain was gone, from the salve she figured, and so she was going to take advantage of it and go upstairs.

As she passed the open front door, she glanced at Spike's back, watching him smoke his cigarette. He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck. As she passed, he turned his head to look at her, his face hidden in shadow. She had no clue what he was thinking and would rather not know at this point anyway.

Probably regret. Or boredom. Had she bored him? Was she not sophisticated and worldly enough for him?

Was she going to ask herself stupid questions all night?

Sighing lightly, she continued to the stairs and slowly went up them, feeling every muscle working to make her move. A couple of groans escaped her, even when she tried to bite them back. He most likely thought she was a big wimp for complaining so much about her pain but... this was the worst she could remember ever feeling.

Coma withstanding.

The ends of her shirt, hanging down to her knees, brushed along her thighs with each step she took, reminding her just how wanton she'd acted. Throwing herself at him like a hussy.

Rounding the stairs, she headed toward her room, wondering if he'd even wanted to kiss her. Maybe he thought she wanted it and just didn't want to be rude. She had wanted it and been disappointed when he didn't kiss her the first time, but not if he was only--

"Oh, stop it," she ground out angrily. "You're an idiot, you know that?" Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushed open her new bedroom door, looking around for the books she'd come upstairs for. Aha. On the bedside. Dawn had borrowed the books and only just returned them this week. Across the hall was much easier to remember than across town.

She smiled a little, remembering Dawn's impossibly wide grin when she brought them over.

The smile left her face when she remembered why Spike wanted them. His 'friend.' She suspected it was more along the lines of 'girlfriend' but she wasn't positive.

Well, one more reason to heap on the pile of wrongness. Spike had a girlfriend. And Buffy. He didn't have Buffy, but he loved her. It was a huge wall being thrown up between them even if there weren't a hundred others.

Glancing down at the three books, all looking well-read, she sighed. "Kiss the boy, then give him things for his girlfriend... yeah, that's normal." She picked them up and headed back downstairs.

He was still outside, the door still wide open, but he was turned to the side now, like he'd been before, when she was out there with him. His back was against the short brick pillar, his knees bent, his head turned toward her. His eyes, no longer in shadow, followed her slow progress down the steps, moving from her face to her hands. The books. She was sure she saw a smile touch his lips, but it was gone when she blinked.

"You, uh, still want them?" she asked, holding them out a bit. She settled her feet on the floor and sighed with relief. Stretching and bending was not doing a lot of good for her at the moment. In the long run, yep, but currently, with the pain and stuff, nope. She went outside, walking across the cold concrete toward him.

"Yeah." He left his cigarette between his lips and reached up for them, squinting through the smoke at the titles as he shuffled the books. "You shouldn't be out here," he told her absently.

His voice was offhanded, but his look wasn't. He surveyed the neighborhood, searching for bad and evil things out to... do what?

"Why not?" She moved to the steps, intending to sit down, but he stood up quickly and tossed his cigarette to the sidewalk below. Grabbing her arm, he moved her slowly back in the direction of the door. "If you didn't want me out here, you should've just said..." she trailed off in embarrassment when he followed her inside and shut the door, locking it tightly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," he denied, tossing the books on the coffee table and dropping into the chair across from the couch. He stared at his boots for a minute, then jumped up in irritation. "Turn around."

She looked over her shoulder, wondering what he wanted back there. His fingers brushed against the skin of her back, causing an un-pain-related hiss to escape her. But he was only tying her blouse. His hands lowered to the strips of white cloth dangling by her hips and lifted them to her back, tying them loosely to rest against her waist.

Before moving away, he trailed his palms across the expanse of her back and dipped down to kiss her neck, exhaling against her skin, raising goose bumps. A shiver of desire worked its way through her, forcing breath out of her lungs. She gasped back in again, and stepped forward, away from him.

"Th-- thanks." She dropped to the couch with a sigh, grabbing the remote quickly and flipping the TV on. She needed something besides Spike to concentrate on, and though she doubted the TV would hold much of her interest, she was grateful for the noise it provided the silent room.

"Welcome," he muttered back, lifting his feet and propping them up on the coffee table as he turned his attention to... oh, not the TV. It was on her. His eyes were on her. Unnerving her.

Making her really nervous. Why was he staring at her?

She tried hard to ignore him, deciding to flip through the channels, but her eyes kept trying to slide to him. He hadn't moved since sitting down, and it was really creepy that he could hold still like that. He'd make a great statue. Certainly had the physique for it. And the pale skin that resembled marble.

She gulped quietly and pressed the down button on the remote, reaching for her water to quench the sudden thirst she had. The remote slipped out of her sweaty palm and dropped to the floor. Her water teetered on the brink of taking a dive, but stayed upright. She wrapped her fingers around the neck and sat back with it, uncapping it slowly, so as not to seem too anxious beneath his watchful gaze.

The sound from the TV entered her mind as she twisted the cap. Moaning. Lots of loud, sexual moaning. And kissing. Her eyes darted to the TV screen, taking in the naked couple onscreen as they bumped and grinded against each other. Her eyes widened and her mouth went even drier.

Oh, dear God. There were breasts and legs and-- and a whole smorgasbord of body parts being artfully displayed. In closeup. She was pretty sure she squeaked in embarrassment before scooting forward on the couch to pick the remote up from the floor.

A short, quick look in Spike's direction found an amused glint in his eyes, and a smile on his lips. And he wasn't helping her in her quest for the remote.

She sat further forward and bent over completely. "Ow!" she yelped before she could stop herself. Tears of pain sprang to her eyes, but she got the remote.

Spike's boots dropped to the floor and he stood up, sitting beside her by the time she straightened up. "Is it really worth all that?" he asked with a shake of his head.

She clicked the TV off, nodding frantically, eyes wide. "Yes." A giggle threatened to escape her, but she managed to hold back. What was it with her evenings with Spike? They were always filled with sex and nakedness and her nervous laughter.

He sat back beside her, his arm brushing against hers, his jean-clad leg resting against hers. He took the remote from her and turned the TV back on. More loud moaning burst through the speakers, followed by an exultant scream of ecstasy from the woman in the movie. She was panting and gasping and-- thankfully Spike changed the channel.

She had no clue what was on, and what he settled in to watch. A show. About something or other. Or it could've been a movie. Maybe a music channel. Her whole mind was stuck on him and his close proximity. She hadn't felt this nervous since high school. Her whole attention was on Spike, her eyes on his leg, which was right next to hers. Her ears heard only his chuckles and the occasional breath he took in.

All she felt was him, the coolness radiating from his body, seeping into hers. The fabric of his shirt sleeve brushing against her bare arm when he shifted. And the smell of him. Cigarettes, not the best smell, but it was Spike. And something else, something... earthy. Spicy. Like cologne. Did he wear cologne?

Maybe it was soap. Or shampoo and conditioner. Perhaps it was the gel he used in his hair, which she knew he had to use. No way did it stay slicked back like that without help. Maybe it was shaving cream or aftershave.

Or, maybe she was obsessing over something that didn't concern her. He had a girlfriend.

An overabundance of women to choose from too. True, Drusilla had left and Buffy wouldn't give him the time of day, but clearly others found him attractive. Even Harmony would probably come running back if he gave her any kind of encouragement. And now she herself was beginning to succumb to his charms.

If she did, would that make her a vampire ho? Or him? It was all too confusing.

She snickered quietly, hiding her laughter behind a cough. He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow curiously, knowing full well she was laughing, but having no idea why. And for once, he didn't ask, just sighed and went back to his TV-watching.

A few minutes later, he glanced at her and did a double-take. "Your nose," he said, reaching a hand out toward her.

She jerked back, having no clue what he was talking about. "What are you doing, playing 'got your nose'?" His laughter soothed her fear, his amused eyes and smile lessening her tension.

"It's bleeding. I just--" he stopped, looking around before coming up with the box of tissues Giles had placed there earlier. "Here." He pulled a few free of the heart-covered box, handing them to her.

"Thanks," she mumbled, raising one of the tissues to her nose to blot away the blood. Her mind, for one tiny second, thought about letting him have the blood, but there were so many things wrong with that, not the least of which was the ew-factor. And the embarrassment of offering a cute guy her nose blood. A cute guy she'd just made out with.


	9. Chapter 9

Buffy sighed as she walked up the steps to her porch. It was a rare night when she wasn't covered in demon goo or vampire dust. She could actually count those times on one hand. Possibly even one finger. Usually that was a good thing, but tonight it meant bad news.

The Wickaninnish had killed another witch.

This made four in all. Two in one night. He was stepping up his power-crazed luncheons and witches were paying the price.

Her hand closed around the doorknob, and two things struck her at once. One, there was a vampire inside. Two, the door was locked.

She raised her fist to pound on the door and yell for Willow before remembering the key in her front jean pocket. Duh, handy little tool, that. Digging the ring of keys out of her tight pants pocket, she slipped it into the lock and quietly opened the door, pocketing the keys once more.

Nothing jumped out at her. No blood covered the floor, and she had hope that her senses were wrong, that she was reading something else as vampire. But as she rounded the corner into the front room and heard the TV playing low, she saw the vampire plain as day. Only it wasn't a currently dangerous one, just an annoying one.

She sighed and took off her jacket, tossing it over Spike's duster on the banister. "What are you doing here?" she asked him as the tv clicked off and he stood from the chair to face her.

Willow was fast asleep on the couch. Unaware that Spike was there? Her back actually looked a little less bruised and there was a really horrible smell coming from... somewhere. Smelled like a sewer. Must be Spike.

Spike barely glanced at her as he passed into the foyer. "Was it a witch?" He took his duster from the railing and swung it around behind him, sliding his arms into the heavy leather. "Was it the Wickaninnish?"

Ignoring the fact that Spike was ignoring her question, she nodded. "There were two witches tonight. I found a man on my way home... his eyes were--" she frowned, shaking herself from the memory of the man's blackened eye sockets, missing their key ingredient, which was of course, eyeballs, and the burned mark on his forehead. A dead giveaway that the Wickaninnish had struck. "Yeah, it was him. Or her." She stopped suddenly, remembering the fact that this was Spike, and evil. Not a friend. "Why are you here?" she asked again.

"Might wanna keep a better eye on your _witch_ friend there," he said nastily, nodding toward Willow's sleeping body. "And how's about maybe, oh, I don't know, telling her there's a witch hunter out there?" He shrugged lightly, his chuckle dark. "But then again, telling a friend she's in danger might not be your thing... maybe I'm just quirky that way."

Buffy glared at him, her favorite expression when dealing with Spike. She couldn't help it, he just brought it out in her. "Not that it's any of your business, Spike, but we'll tell her when we need to. She's not in any condition to deal with this right now." She took in a deep, steadying breath, counting to two before breaking off the mental calm-down and snapping at him. "And, again, still none of your business, Tara did a protection spell on the house. Willow's safe here."

He chuckled again, though there was little amusement in the sound or in the look on his face. "That's great... for when she's not sitting out on the porch, alone, in the middle of the night." He yanked open the front door, starting out.

"The porch is part of the spell, she's safe." Buffy paused, tilting her head to the side as she studied Spike suspiciously. "Why are you suddenly caring so much about Willow?"

Spike paused with a sigh, turning back to face her slowly. "She's one of you lot, isn't she?"

Buffy nodded unnecessarily. "Well, duh, yeah. But, since when do you care about any of... us." As soon as she said the words, she wished she could take them back. It was a stupid thing to say really, because now he was probably going to launch into yet another declaration of love.

He looked at her pointedly. No sarcasm, no smart remarks, nothing but honesty.

She was the one to look away. It made her extremely uncomfortable knowing about Spike's feelings. She wished often that he'd kept them to himself.

She didn't apologize, as was her first instinct, just nodded. "If this is a way to... I don't know, get in my good graces, it's not gonna work. Just stay out of this. Okay?"

Spike laughed as if he'd known she was going to say something like that. He nodded, turning away before coming back and standing right in front of her, forcing her to retreat a step. "Brace yourself, Buffy, because I'm sure this is the only time you've ever heard this, but... this has nothing to do with you. It's not about you at all." He kept his eyes trained on her, until she grew uncomfortable, then spun around, and jumped down the porch steps.

His coat billowed out behind him before landing against the back of his legs, settling into a swaying motion as he walked across the grass and away from her house.

Buffy watched him walk away, closing her eyes for a brief second.

Truth be told, if Spike weren't an evil bloodsucking vampire, she might've considered him. But he was, and she didn't. It was as simple as that.

Closing the door softly, she turned the lock and sighed. Life--and she'd said this before--sucked.

********

Spike waited until he heard the click of the lock turn before veering off to the left and heading into the backyard in search of his Willow-stuff. Skirting around the house, he listened for any sounds in the house heading toward the backyard, but all was silent.

Buffy's stunned face stayed in his mind though. He'd gotten one up on her. Finally. He was due a little upper hand.

The soft grass beneath his boots kept his footsteps silent as he rounded the corner, seeing his goodies just a few feet from the back porch.

A pair of silky red panties and a matching bra. Sexy. The blouse he'd pilfered, a black number with short sleeves and an even shorter midriff was something he'd never seen Willow wear. Too bad, 'cause she'd probably look damn sexy in it.

Face it, he told himself, you think she'd look sexy in anything. Or nothing. Definitely nothing.

Stuffing the clothes into his duster pocket with the books Willow had loaned him, he left the Summers' house and headed home. His Willow-bot was waiting for him and he had a burning... raging... need, to see her. Touching the real Willow had whetted his appetite. Tossed a bit of kindling on the heaping fire that was flaring up inside him for her.

What was that about? He loved Buffy. The Slayer. She was the one he loved and wanted and needed to be with. Buffy was the light in his darkness.

"Oh, bloody hell," he ground out. Next thing, he'd be spouting poetry, which was not needed here. Absolutely not needed.

Buffy, he thought to himself as he turned a corner, heading for the 24-hour supermarket. She was his life now. He didn't like her much, she was a bit self-involved, but he had fallen in love with her. So why was he all hot and bothered by Willow? The idea that it was a spell came to mind, of course, but he couldn't be sure. It felt natural.

Of course, so had getting engaged to Buffy last year.

So, what then? A spell to make him fall in love with Willow. To what end? To take his mind off of Buffy. That was the most logical reasoning he could come up with, but he doubted anyone in the Scoobie gang would agree to that. Especially Willow. And she seemed to feel something for him, so... maybe it was real.

Or something else was causing this.

He headed into the brightly-lit store, which had neon cardboard signs cut in weird shapes taped to the windows, proclaiming it had the lowest prices in Sunnydale. Due to it being the only big market in the city, that was pretty much a given. He headed straight for the shampoo aisle. The store was empty but for two cashiers talking to each other in checkout lane eight. They were giggling over a tabloid magazine, paying him no attention.

Absentmindedly, he made his way to the aisle where the toiletries were located. Striding down the end of the aisles, past the giggling cashiers, he rolled his eyes. What a silly waste of time. He should be out killing for money and smokes, not shopping for soap and shampoo, so his bot would smell like someone who wasn't even Buffy.

His boots echoed throughout the store, ringing loudly even above the music currently being piped through the speakers. Smells assaulted him, salty, sweet, peppery, sour. Fruity and tangy. It was all there, every scent known to man and then some. And every single one was wafting toward him, driving him mad.

Heading down aisle four, he stopped in front of the shampoo. The brand Willow used was on the end and the scent was there as well. But it wasn't her. The vanilla scent was something else entirely. But for now, this would help create the illusion that his robot was the real Willow. Grabbing a bottle each of shampoo and conditioner, he swung by the soap and grabbed that as well.

Taking his items up front, he passed by the sundries aisle, seeing candles lining one of the shelves. Maybe. Heading down the aisle, he picked up a red pillar candle, sniffing it. Cinnamon. Very close to the smell Willow had going the other night. A white one caught his eye and he picked it up as well, juggling the bottles of soap and shampoo to sniff the white candle. Vanilla.

Oh, yeah, this was close. So very close. Anything to help.

He headed up to the checkout counter, in no mood to deal with the two giggly teenagers. As he neared, they both looked up, and stared at him, whispering quietly to each other.

Both were pretty and--he inhaled--smelled so good. The blood pumping through their veins was calling to him, inviting him to snack on them. Make a meal out of them. And he wanted to. More than anything he wanted to sink his teeth into their pretty little necks and gorge himself on their hot blood, but he couldn't. Not anymore.

Dropping his items to the counter with a little more force than was necessary, he sighed. "Carton of smokes too," he told the blond. "Marlboro."

The blond--her name tag labeled her as Candy--nudged the brunette. Lisa, the brunette, nudged Candy right back. Neither one took their eyes off of him as they nudged and pushed each other.

"Smokes," he repeated, louder, not in the mood for-- anything really. Except sex. Lots of sex and drinking blood. But the blood wasn't going to be happening. So sex it was. With Willow. The robot version of Willow.

Finally Candy sighed heavily and smiled coquettishly. "One moment, sir," she mumbled, stomping off to the locked case of cigarettes while Lisa scanned his items, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. A smile broadened her lips, meant to be seductive, but coming out as infantile.

She'd be the perfect meal. Dumb as a post, pretty as can be, and young to boot. Both of them would make a tasty little snack. His stomach rumbled with hunger, mocking him.

Candy returned with his cigarettes as Lisa was finishing the scanning. She tapped a few keys, giggling when she made a mistake. "Oops. Sorry, I double charged you for the... um," she held up the shampoo bottle, "shampoo. Oo, lilac," she muttered, her smile widening even more. "For your girlfriend, I hope."

Both Lisa and Candy burst out in giggles, and Spike had enough. He rounded the counter while they bagged his things, tossing the money on the counter as he passed it.

Standing at the end of the conveyor belt, by the girls, he vamped out and grinned at them. "Time for lunch," he laughed, watching as they screamed and backed up into the cigarette cases. The plastic casing rattled as they huddled against it, gasping and pleading for their pathetic little lives. He was having fun. He didn't want to leave, not yet. This was what he missed. The fear, the crying and pleading, the sobbing, the begging for mercy.

That, and the blood. He could practically taste it.

He stalked closer, grabbing Candy by her arms and hauling her up, not hurting her.

"Please..." she begged, her tearful face aimed at the floor, away from his vampiric one. "Please don't hurt me. I-- I didn't mean... don't kill me," she finally yelled, trying to worm her way out of his grasp.

"Kill you," he repeated, shaking her a bit. Seeing Lisa starting to crawl away, he turned Candy and himself around, snarling at Lisa. "Stay," he commanded, like he was talking to a nervous dog. "Atta girl." Pressing Candy back against the locked case, he leaned forward, sniffing her neck. "Vanilla," he muttered, "just like Willow." He pulled away, staring down into her face. "You smell like her, yet you hold no appeal for me. Why is that?" he asked.

"I-- I-- I don't know, sir," she sobbed, getting on his nerves. She cringed away from him when he brushed her long blond hair behind her back.

It was straight and beautiful, but she didn't draw him in. Why, damn it? Why was it only Willow? He slammed her back against the plastic, chuckling when she screamed, reaching her hands back as far as she could with his hold on her arms. "Well, Candy, how about a taste, huh?" He leaned forward, intending nothing more than a small bite to scare her, and then he'd take his groceries and go.

But when he bit her, there was no pain. No pain at all. He drew her closer, holding her body fully against his for better access and shoved her head to the side. His teeth sank deeper, fully into her neck, spilling the rich, hot blood that was keeping her alive. She screamed again, and he felt it against his chest, but his other senses were so full of her that he didn't notice Lisa getting to her feet and running away.

Candy whimpered a few times, her body jerking against his in a death dance as he drained every last drop from her, reveling in the feeling of being a predator once more. Her warm body against his... oh, it hadn't gotten him hard before, but, damn, if the blood hadn't done the job.

He dropped Candy to the tile floor, hardly registering the thump of her head hitting the counter as he threw his head back and laughed. God, he felt like an animal again!

Grinning evilly, he turned toward his other snack, only to find her gone. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, listening for her heartbeat. It was there, close by. The stupid chit hadn't made a run for it while she had the chance.

"Here, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa," he sing-songed, stalking toward the checkout counter he knew she was hiding behind. He could hear more than her heartbeat. Her whimpering was like music to his ears and his body hummed along. "Here, girl," he whispered, circling the counter.

She was huddled under the counter, sobbing and wet. Shaking like a leaf, poor thing. "Boo!" he yelled, laughing when she shrieked and tried unsuccessfully to melt into the floor.

"Please," she screamed, covering her head with her arms, cowering like the human she was. "Please don't hurt me!"

"But, I thought you _liked_ me," he complained. "I heard your little whispered conversation with Candy over there." He reached across the counter and grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. "You thought I was cute. Don't you still want me?" He dragged her with him to the where Candy's body was and spun her around. "You said you'd screw me right here, on this counter. Don't you still want to do that? Huh?"

She cringed and shook her head, not looking at him and his demonic face. "No-- no, sir. I-- I was just... I didn't-- we were kidding!" She swallowed a sob, sniffling a few times as she lifted her eyes to his face, her lips trembling. "I don't want to die."

"Nobody does really." He shrugged and drew her closer, spinning her around so her back was to him. Much easier to feed that way. "But we all do. Some sooner than others." He bit into her heated flesh, tearing through the skin like it was tissue paper and sucked out huge mouthfuls of blood, moaning at the flavor and the taste of such sweet, young blood.

"Hail Mary full of grace," she whispered, "the... the Lord is with thee..." her voice trailed off as she fainted.

Spike drank her dry and dropped her body on top of the counter. Wiping his hand across his mouth to remove any blood, he stared down at the mess he'd made.

The chip was gone. Malfunctioning or something. He was free. Grabbing his plastic sack of groceries, he headed home to his Willow-bot, feeling like a new vampire.

********

"Honey," Spike called loudly, "I'm home!" Slamming the door shut with his foot, he stood amid his dusty crypt, taking stock of his shabby surroundings. Used TV, used chair, used mattress?? he didn't even have a proper bed, for god's sake... and felt the world rush back at him again.

He was free, yes, but what did that mean? Buffy would be after him. Willow wouldn't want to be near him, and the Scoobies, as much as he hated and despised... some of them, wouldn't want him walking around enjoying life anymore.

Dawn would be disappointed in him, that was a sure thing. She'd glare and cross her arms over her chest, just like big sis. But he didn't care. He was an animal again, not a lapdog of the Slayer's. He liked killing, and killing he would do.

Shoving his armchair from the trap door, he yanked it up and jumped down, rather than taking the ladder. Although, now that he was down there, he had to climb back up and close the door. But he in no way lost any points for evilness. He was evil.

Bad as they come.

And in the mood for a good shagging. He and Dru had had some awesome sex after a good killing. Except... tonight's killing, although fun in the way that he was able to actually do it... left a little something to be desired.

They had been weak, giggly girls. No challenge for the Big Bad.

He pushed that thought aside, searching the darkness for his girl. She was on the bed, in the same position as he'd left her, looking ripe for the plucking. Perfect for a seducing. Shagging after a good--decent--kill was unlike anything else in life. It couldn't be replaced by anything. There was no substitute for a good shagging after a kill.

He wanted to feel Willow's warmth beside him, around him, and below him.

Dropping the bag to the floor, he tossed his duster to the side and knelt down, crawling up the mattress toward her. "The Big Bad's home, baby." He chuckled, licking his lips as he smelled her and felt the warmth radiating from her. "Did you miss me?"

When she didn't move or reply, he glanced up at her face, frowning in frustration. She was recharging. Bloody hell. He had all this human blood pumping through his veins, so much richer than the pig's blood he'd been forced to subsist on, and he wanted a good shagging.

He kissed her lips lightly, hoping she'd wake up, but she didn't even stir. Hell.

Rolling to the side, he sat on the thin mattress, raising his legs to rest his arms on. Okay, no sex. Unless he wanted to go solo, which he didn't.

Heaving a huge sigh, he grabbed the bag from beside him and took out the candles. Red and white. Vanilla and cinnamon. What flavor did he want tonight? Vanilla. It reminded him of his most recent encounter with Willow. The touching and caressing, the kissing. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet and looked for a good place to set the candles.

There was the dirt floor, or the mattress. The altar was across the room, bare now but for the box of Willow-stuff, but it was too far away. He wanted to be able to actually smell them. There was a rock resting on its side a few feet away from the mattress, and it had a few broken off and worn places where the candles might fit. The rock it was.

He put the white one on the highest part of the rock, shoving the red one into a tight space by the end. Wax got shaved and broken off, sending up a hint of cinnamon, but he stuck to his plan of lighting the white one.

He crossed over to his duster and dug his lighter out of the pocket, lighting the vanilla candle. Black smoke wafted around in the air as the flame brightened and then lowered a few times, flickering back and forth. There had to be a breeze coming from somewhere. Inhaling the scent, he stared down at the girl lying in his bed.

The flame painted her in orange, shadowing parts and then revealing them. Her hair was spread out on the mattress, one lock tucked behind her ear by his own fingers. There was no expression on her face, she was just... there.

He stripped off his clothes, watching her for any signs of movement. His boots went first, then his jeans. As he unzipped them, and unbuckled the belt, he started to reconsider his decision not to go it solo. But he could wait. He was hard and energized from the blood rushing through him, but he was also a bit tired. Sated. Tossing his T-Shirt on the pile of clothes, he knelt at her feet and untied her shoes, throwing them aside.

He straddled her legs, touching only the outside of her thighs, and unzipped her jeans, sliding them off her hips and down her legs. The right foot got caught, and the jeans went flying when he yanked on them. They smacked against the far wall, dropping to the dirt floor with a plop.

Crawling higher, he slid his hands under the hem of her sweater and pushed it up, exposing her to his gaze.

"You're bloody beautiful, you know that, love?" He leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to her stomach, tasting the unique flavor of the robot. Now that he'd tasted the real thing, he could definitely tell the difference.

His hands slid around to her back and he sat her up, stripping the sweater from her body. She flopped forward against him, tickling his face with her hair, the cord coming from her stomach pushing into his side. He kept his arms around her, trying to unhook her bra.

"Stupid... little-- why do they make these things so small and-- hard to open!" He yanked hard, tearing the strap, but he finally got it loose. Slipping his fingers under the shoulder straps, he peeled it from her body and laid her back down. Her breasts bounced a few times, her hair falling over her face. Brushing the hair from her cheek, he scooted back down and stripped off her panties as well.

"Hello," he muttered, ignoring his straining erection. She was out, and he was not going to use her. He would in no way use the bot like that. It was bad enough he had to resort to having a robot... he wouldn't have sex with it while it was charging. Or touch it.

Lifting his hand from her thigh, he sat back on his heels and looked at her, shaking his head at himself. Ponce.

He stretched across Willow, reaching for his duster, and yanked it toward him, ignoring the reaction his body was having at the feel of her flesh against him. He could handle a little abstinence; he'd done it with Dru enough times. This was no different.

He dug into the pocket again, and freed the clothes he'd taken from Willow. Holding them in his hands, almost reverently, he lifted the red and black pieces of cloth to his face and sniffed them. They didn't carry Willow's scent, being freshly laundered, but they were better than the clothes the robot had been wearing all week.

Making quick work of it, he dropped the clothing beside her legs and picked up the panties. Sliding one foot through the leg hole, he picked up her other foot, still hoping for a little movement from her. She could wake up at anytime. He glanced at her face, disheartened when she didn't open her eyes and call his name in that unique way she had.

Sliding the panties up her legs, he put them on as best he could, but he knew from experience that a body could not be dressed by an outside person, something was always a little off. The bra could stay off for now. He tossed that by the mattress, catching a whiff of vanilla as it floated toward him. Tossing the shirt to the side as well, he left her as she was and blew out the candle.

If he kept on smelling that scent, he'd either force her to wake up, or be forced to take care of himself. He crawled across the bed, reaching out for the pillows and blanket he'd thrown down here the other day. He slipped one pillow under Willow's head and the other under his own and settled the blanket over both of them.

He rolled her over onto her right side and laid down behind her, sliding a hand around her stomach. His hand hit the cord attaching her to the wall, reminding him once again, as if he wasn't already aware of the fact, that this was not a real person. He repositioned his hand, cupping her breast instead, and shifted around a bit, trying to get comfortable.

The hard-on he was currently sporting didn't make that easy, but after a few minutes, he began to relax and fall into a deep sleep, fueled by vivid dreams of Willow.


	10. Chapter 10

Spike swatted at something tickling his stomach, snarling at the light, feathery touch dancing across his skin. The tickling didn't stop, so he forced his eyes open, ready to kill whatever was interrupting his sleep.

He was tired, damn it.

The thing crawling across his stomach was a hand; a female hand. The fingers clenched and unclenched against him, just brushing his skin as they opened and closed. He threaded his fingers through Willow's and groaned, pulling her close against him as he tried to settle back into sleep.

She moaned a few times, moving restlessly against him, shifting this way and that, and he wondered if she was having a nightmare. His mind was sleep befuddled, forcing him back to reality when all he wanted to do was sleep some more.

"Go back to sleep, baby," he muttered against her forehead, placing a kiss on the smooth flesh there.

"Mm, Spike," she whispered, trailing her hand up his abdomen to his hip. She rested her hand against his waist and cuddled closer, pressing against some parts of him that were happy for the wake-up call. "I love you."

He opened his eyes, chuckling at the purely feminine sound that Willow made when she felt his erection hardening against her thigh. To hell with sleep, he could do that later.

Rolling her onto her back, he dropped kisses along her shoulder and neck, brushing her hair out of his way. She sighed and slid her hand around him, trying to press him closer to her, to get him to kiss her, but he stayed on his side, worshiping her slowly. Tasting every inch of her skin.

Her hands slid along his back and down again, slipping along the curve of his butt, squeezing the flesh. He took her hand and guided it to his erection, which was already straining for her touch. Her fingers wrapped around him, spreading out as she squeezed and caressed him.

"I like touching you," she told him, pushing him back and climbing on top of him. "You feel so good. Oo," she practically squealed, "you undressed me. You're naughty."

"Eh? Not yet, love, but give me a--" he opened his eyes, not wanting to, since he was enjoying just feeling, and looked up at her, seeing her breasts right there. Directly in front of him. Well, apparently he had. He looked down, seeing lacy red panties and remembered the night before. He was with the bot, not the real Willow.

Sigh.

He reached up to curl his fingers around her upper arms and pull her down. "I did. And I was all..." he drew in a breath, sliding a finger around one of her nipples, letting his eyes follow the movement, "hot and bothered by you." Glancing down, he was relieved to see no wires or cords springing from her stomach. Had she unplugged herself and wiped it from her memory like Warren said she would? "Care to make it up to me, love?"

She bit her lip, watching his hands cup her breasts. "Oh, yes."

He could feel the heat from her body seeping into his, warming him with every touch. She tightened her legs around his waist, and he felt wetness, smelled her arousal. How had Warren gotten that to work? he wondered absently, as he spanned her waist with his hands. She was small, but nowhere near as small as Buffy. Nor as thin as Dru. Not as busty as Harm. She was... all her own. She had her own curves and dips.

Her own taste and smell.

And he wanted it all. Sitting up, he lifted her from him. "Take 'em off."

She climbed to her feet and pushed the thin, lacy material down her hips, letting them slide down her legs to the floor. She stood in front of him, smiling as his eyes roamed over her.

He looked his fill, taking in her perfection as he rarely did anymore. Taut stomach, perky breasts, long, muscular legs, beautiful face. Curvy hips. Pale flesh. He wished she had freckles, or a mole, scars maybe, something, anything to break up the perfect expanse of her smooth, white flesh.

She trailed a hand down her hip, then slowly knelt on one leg, crawling across the mattress toward him, her smile firmly in place. When she neared him, she rested her hands on his stomach, and crawled on top of him, straddling his waist. "Mm," she sighed, "you're so cold... and I'm so..." she paused, looking at him from under her lashes, licking her lips, "hot."

He'd have to agree with her there. In more ways than one. The heat of her body was surrounding him. Her legs, where they were pressed against his sides, made him want to melt into her. And she was definitely hot in the looks department.

He chuckled, lifting her atop his erection. "Ready, baby?"

She nodded, her eyes shining with desire, her chest rising and falling as she helped him lift her. He hooked his hands under her and pressed his fingers into her flesh, drawing her down on him.

"Oh, Spike," she gasped, squeezing her muscles around him and holding herself still. "Your manhood is so hard and so big." She leaned forward, nipping at his lips with her teeth, smiling seductively. "Give it to me, Spike. Take me with all your virile strength. Use me for your own dastardly pleasures."

Spike snorted with laughter, pressing her against him and wrapping his arms around her back. "Up, Willow," he urged, arching his hips off of the mattress. She quickly obliged, raising herself onto her knees before lowering back down. "That's it, baby. Keep going like that." He leaned back against the wall, keeping his hands on her hips, helping to lift and lower her.

Her hands moved behind her, her fingers gripping his thighs, clawing at the flesh, bracing herself against him in order to keep the pace rhythmic. Her hair brushed his cheek, her tongue darting out to taste him. "Do I please you, Spike?" She smiled against his neck, her voice a purr.

She sounded more like the real Willow in that moment than she ever had before, and his body responded. His stomach tightened, his fingers clenching on her waist, gripping her even more tightly. "Oh, god, yes." He rested his head back, closing his eyes as she took over. He dropped his hands to the mattress, bracing himself to thrust inside her, bending his legs at the knee.

"Do you love me, Spike, my Blonde God?" She raised and lowered herself at a quicker pace, gasping with each stroke. Her fingers gripped him more tightly. "Do you..." she trailed off as he thrust even more deeply, then sagged against him with a few gasps, "oh, oh, do you love me?"

He opened his eyes, gazing into her face as she moved on him. He wasn't going to lie to her, so he kept silent, flinching at the disappointment in her eyes. She was only a robot, she didn't have feelings. She didn't know what real love and caring was. "Willow," he whispered, feeling guilty for hurting her. A blasted robot. "I care about you, baby." He brushed her hair over her shoulder, planting a small kiss against her shoulder. "Don't be sad."

"You love me," she insisted, clenching around him, tightening her muscles almost to the point of pain. "I know you do because you make such sweet, tender love to me. You need me like I need you." She smiled and ran her fingernails down his back. "We're a match made on a hellmouth."

"Yes, baby," he agreed, about ready to agree to anything at this point. She was driving him wild. He thrust inside of her with wild abandon, hardly in control of himself any longer. "God... faster, Willow."

She obliged, moving more quickly. Riding him like the animal he was. The wild beast. He vamped out, moving toward her neck before remembering he couldn't bite her. Motor oil issues. Bloody hell.

"Bite me," he told her, pushing her mouth down to his shoulder. "Hard, Willow." He needed the excruciating pleasure only pain could give him now. He wanted to be the one doling out the pain and the biting, but in lieu of that, she could bite him and give him almost as much pleasure.

She bit into his shoulder, lightly, not wanting to hurt him. Giving him a small love bite. It was nowhere near what he needed.

He pressed her closer, digging his fingernails into her flesh. "Harder. Please, Willow." He pulled back to look beseechingly into her eyes.

"What if I hurt you?" she asked with a worried frown, her mouth turning down in a pout when he laughed at her question. "You're making fun of me."

"No, I'm not-- you can't hurt me," he insisted. "I'm a vampire, remember? Superhuman strength and all that?" He nipped her lip, sucking it into his mouth for a second, biting it lightly. "It'll please me. You want to please me, don't you?" If all else fails, use manipulation.

"Of course, I do, Spike. I love you." She smiled a little nervously, dropping her eyes to his shoulder before leaning down to kiss it softly. A second later her teeth sank into his flesh, forcing a yell of pain from him, but god, it felt so good.

He gasped, panting against her hair as she bit into him harder. His body surged forward, forcing him deeper inside her and he came with a groan, jerking against her a few times. As he went still, he felt her body tighten around him.

Her mouth left him, her head going back with a gasp. "Oh, Spike," she whispered, "Oh, I love you so much." She collapsed against him, tucking her head against his uninjured shoulder.

He lifted her head up with a finger under her chin and kissed her thoroughly, licking the blood from her lips. "I never get tired of hearing that," he muttered.

She smiled and sat up on him, fully recovered already; the advantages of being robotic... a faster recovery time than even a vampire. "I never get tired of saying it," she said absently as she climbed off of him and stood there looking for her clothes. "Because, I do. Love you, I mean."

Spike stared at her, wondering if it was just his imagination that was making her sound so much like Willow. "Uh... what?" he finally asked, sitting forward.

She smiled in triumph when she spotted her panties on the floor by the mattress and stepped into them quickly. "What?" She looked over at him in confusion. "Where did you put my bra?" she mumbled, snatching up the red lace when she saw it by his duster. "Pretty."

"Why are you talking like that?" He stood up, grabbing his jeans from the floor.

"I always talk like that," she laughed, tossing him a puzzled smile. "Did you buy me new clothes? And..." she looked into the plastic grocery bag. "Soap. Do I smell?"

"No," he said dismissively, "I got them from a friend and, no, you don't stink. Anything but." He buttoned his pants and zipped them up, leaving the belt unbuckled. "Did you... or someone else, modify your programming?"

In the process of slipping the black blouse over her head, she turned to stare at him blankly for a moment before busting out laughing. "I'm not a robot, Spike." The way she held her head stiffly to the side said otherwise. "I'm made of... flesh and blood and... other things. You're acting weird."

He bent down, searching through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes and Zippo. "I'm not acting weird," he denied, sliding a cigarette between his lips as he tossed her a look. He stood back up again and lit the cigarette, snapping his lighter shut with an echoing click. "You're different." Sliding the Zippo into his front pocket, he squinted at her through the smoke drifting lazily up between them. "You don't talk like that. You talk like a bloody bodice ripper."

"I do not." She frowned at him as she pulled the hem of her blouse down, not happy when it settled just shy of her hips. "Why is this so small? Who'd you borrow it from, Minnie Mouse?" She stopped trying to yank it down and looked around. "No pants?"

He shrugged, picking up her old jeans and tossing them to her. "Sorry. I'll get some tonight." Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he watched her.

"Oo, can I come with? I haven't left the crypt in... a week." She frowned at him, sliding into the jeans. "Why can't I leave, Spike? I miss my friends. I miss the town." She pulled the jeans over her hips and fastened them, pleading with him with her eyes to let her go out.

He took the cigarette from his lips and sighed. He wanted to take her out. He didn't like keeping her cooped up here like a prisoner, but in this town, where everyone knew Willow... it just couldn't happen. "I got you something." He dug the books out of his duster pocket and handed them to her.

"Magick books!" She hugged them to her like they were precious diamonds and hopped up and down a few times before kissing his cheek. "Thank you so much."

This new version of the Willow-bot was baffling. Why was she suddenly talking like the human Willow? Why did she smile like her more, and act like her, move like her? Something weird was going on. As if getting the completely wrong robot in the first place wasn't weird. Something, or someone wanted him to want Willow. Question was: who was it?

Because, wow, did he want Willow. Like the dickens. Buffy was a pale shadow compared to his new obsession. Now that he had his bite back, maybe he'd go out searching for the reason behind his newfound desire for the witch. Maybe he'd kill a few people and just enjoy it.

Well, no, there was no fun in that. He needed a challenge. Killing two teenage girls that'd whispered and giggled over him didn't make him a fierce predator. It made him weak. He needed more.

"Willow," he said slowly. He looked up to find her flipping through the books excitedly. "What would you say if I told you the chip wasn't working anymore?"

Her head shot up, her wide eyes staring at him fearfully. She dropped the books and swallowed thickly, stepping back once. Just once, but he felt like she'd stepped out of his life. She wouldn't be okay with it. The real Willow wouldn't be okay with it.

"Are-- are you going to kill me?" she asked softly, biting her lips nervously. Her eyes darted toward the trap door, and he could've kicked himself for bringing it up.

He'd thought to use the bot as a sounding board, sort of see how the real Willow would feel about it. But apparently that was a bad idea, because now she was afraid of him. "No," he insisted, striding forward to take her in his arms and reassure her, but she frowned at him, halting his progress. "No, I'm not going to hurt you. At all. I don't want to kill you."

Her frown actually deepened, her eyes turning to his with accusation. "Why not?" She crossed her arms over her chest restlessly and dropped her eyes to the floor, where her foot was drawing patterns in the dirt. "You don't want me around forever?"

Spike's heart lightened at her whispered words. She was afraid he didn't want to turn her, not that he'd kill her. A grin split his face and he chuckled as he took those last two steps to slip his arms around her. "It's not that at all, Willow." He tipped her face up with his finger, kissing her softly. "I don't want you to change; I want you just the way you are. Except immortal."

She nodded, partially convinced he was telling the truth. "So, if we could find a spell to attach my soul permanently, you'd--"

"In a heartbeat, love." And he wasn't lying. He did like the idea of her being around for forever. Maybe even a little longer. She wouldn't leave him. At least, he didn't think she would. Admittedly her track record wasn't as spotless as he'd like, but it was loads better than Dru's. She was loyal, and committed. She loved fiercely and deeply. There was a strength to her that everyone who met her noticed right away.

He'd do well to have her near him for eternity. Well, the real her. The robot version? Eh, not so much. She was nice to have around, and he was rather fond of her, but she couldn't satisfy all his needs.

She kissed him suddenly, startling him, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. Confessing and finding out how she felt about the chip. Right.

"Love?" He pulled away with regret, kissing her soundly a few more times before setting her away from him. "About the implant?"

Her grin faded completely. All happiness fled her face. "Did..." she swallowed, looking extremely reluctant to continue, "did you kill anyone?"

He nodded, his face blank. "I did."

"Oh." She sighed and moved away from him, picking up her shoes from the floor. She sat on the mattress and dusted off her feet before putting her shoes on. She tied the laces and raised her knees, resting her arms across the tops of them. Gazing across the few feet separating them, she set her chin on her arms. "Oh."

"But I didn't enjoy it," he hastily added, then amended that. "Well, I did, because... first time killing a human in over a year. So, of course I liked it. But I didn't--" he sighed, not sure how to explain it. This wasn't going well. He'd better do it better with the real Willow. "It's wasn't as fun as it used to be. Not as pleasurable."

Willow's eyes followed him as he paced in front of her, kicking up dust with each step. "Can you stop killing? Do you... do you have to do it? Can't you just... not?"

Spike tossed her an irritated glance. "Easier said than done, love. I'm not going to stop. I'm a vampire, it's what I do. It's how I live, how I survive." Stopping in front of her, he knelt down rubbing his thumb across her cheek softly. "I need it."

"But." She gazed at him, trying to understand what he was telling her, but not quite able to grasp the importance of it. "Could you, for now, just kill bad people? Like murderers and rapists and stuff?"

Spike slipped his hand around her neck, drawing her closer for a kiss. "I think I can do that. For now," he added, pressing his lips against hers, opening his mouth and kissing her deeply. Sliding his tongue into her mouth, he pushed away all thoughts of being caged just as much now as he had been when the chip was active. This was different.

And he did have to be careful. Buffy would kill him without a thought if she found out. Xander and Giles as well. Anya probably wouldn't give a damn, but Dawn would be regretful.

Willow would... ask him to stick to killing bad people?

********

Willow glanced at the door to the training room. Loud, arguing voices were coming from there, but she couldn't hear what was being said. All she knew was that Giles, Xander and Buffy were arguing about something. Anya looked toward the room in irritation as she closed the register drawer and handed her customer his change.

She smiled widely, in a fairly freaksome way and gave the man his bag of jellied bat eyes. "Have a nice day. Come back soon. Tell all your friends," she called to him, chasing the poor man from the store with her platitudes. Rolling her eyes, she tossed another annoyed look at the training room. "They're scaring my-- Giles' customers away."

Dawn, sitting at the table with her homework, shared a grin with Willow. "I'm sure they're very sorry."

"Hmph," Anya said absently, straightening items on the counter that were already perfectly positioned. "I doubt it."

Willow chuckled, curling up a little more comfortably on the big, oversized chair by the table. The voices--one of which was male and of the British variety--was raised even higher, drawing her attention. She'd been sitting here in this same spot almost all day. Buffy had talked her into going with her to the shop, and Giles had even come by to pick them up in his car.

She'd wanted to stay home, alone, thinking her Spike-thoughts, but Buffy had practically shoved her out the door with her. It'd do her some good to get some fresh air. And they'd be nearby in case she needed anything. It'd be fun.

Buffy had piled on the cheer, and goaded Willow into agreeing, but now she was regretting it. Her back was hurting again, she was due another application of the salve, and everyone was either fluttering around her with endless, 'how are you?' questions, or ignoring her completely. They hadn't even let her do research on the web for the new demon in town. Like her brains had been affected by the back injury. Please. She could click circles around any web user out there. Her searches were legendary. She was the queen of all that she surveyed. Or something.

Well, at least she hadn't had a nosebleed today. Just the headache that didn't seem to want to vacate the premises anytime soon.

"So," Dawn chirped, drawing her attention with a strained smile. "How are you at Latin?" She dropped her pencil to the table beside her open text book and sighed. "I have to do an essay."

Willow glanced at Dawn, but went right back to frowning at the training room door. "In Latin?" she asked skeptically. Buffy was getting really angry, her voice was lowering, becoming sharp. "They make you essay in Latin now?"

"Um, well, no," Dawn admitted with a shrug, laying her head on her arms. "I'm trying to get your rapt attention off the fight in the other room."

"What's going on?" she asked, slipping her feet to the floor. If Dawn knew what was going on, then it was something big. That they didn't want her to know? Or didn't want to worry her about? Either way, she was angry. Yeah, big-time mad. Friends didn't keep friends in the dark. They didn't keep huge secrets... unless it dealt with Spike and kissing. But that was on a whole other playing field of secret-keeping.

"Nothing." The reply was quick and immediate, and so much a lie. "Really," she insisted, nodding her assent. "It's just... you know, the normal. Big bad. Demons galore. Evil..." she glanced over her shoulder at the doorway, then back at Willow again, "things."

Anya skirted the counter and headed over to a customer browsing the book shelves. "Oh, even I don't believe that pathetic lie," she told Dawn. "Hi. Can I help you find something?" She stepped up the single stair and joined the woman in front of the books. "We have jellied bat eyes. They're on sale." She smiled widely, crossing her hands behind her back. "And bat wings are half off with a purchase of the jellied eyes."

The woman's smile faltered a little. "Um, I'm okay here. Just... looking for a book on spells. Uh, to protect witches." She glanced Willow and Dawn's way, obviously way out of her element here. "My-- my daughter is a witch, I mean, Wiccan, I guess is the correct term. And with all the deaths--"

"We have just what you're looking for over here," Anya said loudly, grabbing the woman's arm and hauling her a few feet away. "Yes, see. Right here," she proclaimed, staring pointedly over her shoulder at Dawn.

Willow's frown was considerable. Now she knew there was a conspiracy. What the heck was going on? "Dawn, what--"

Dawn laughed shrilly, startling Willow. "Oh! There was this joke... that I just remembered." She grinned wide, her eyes sparkling with a lack of amusement. "There was a guy, and he walked into a bar... but. Wait, no. Um, there were three guys, and they walked-- no, that's not right. Um, three guys walked into a bar, the fourth one ducked." She laughed some more, way more than the joke warranted.

When Willow only stared at her, she closed her mouth with a snap, erasing away the false cheer.

"It-- it probably wasn't funny. I ruined it. Or you had to be there." She nodded, falling silent.

"Okay," Willow said in puzzlement, pushing herself to her feet. "What's going on?"

Dawn jumped up, taking her arm and gently pushing her back into her chair. The cushion padded her back from any pain as she dropped into the seat, but she was still angry.

"Willow, you can't--" Dawn began, tossing a frantic look toward the door, and then, when that remained empty, she look for Anya. "Stay here. I'll be... right back."

"Not gonna happen," she mumbled, standing up again. As she headed toward the doorway of the training room, Buffy suddenly appeared in it, followed by Giles and Xander. A sheepish-looking Dawn trailed behind, tossing an apologetic look at Willow. Well, now that they were out here, she'd sit back down, but she also intended to demand answers.

Giles moved behind the counter, smiling at her a bit. Xander sat in the chair at the table directly in front of Willow while Dawn took her seat again. Willow's eyes were on Buffy though, since she was the decision maker for all things demon-y. Usually. Or, well, occasionally.

"Guys, what's going on? What's the big?" She sat back, shifting lightly against the huge pad behind her, stifling a sigh of relief. This was her favorite seat in the whole world.

Buffy stopped in front of Willow, kneeling there like she was about to say something to a five-year-old. A five-year-old who wasn't going to like what she had to say. "How's your back?" she asked instead of answering.

There was genuine concern there, and Willow was mentally aw-ing over it, but she also wanted answers. But she could play the innocuous game. "I'm going to steal this chair when I get better and hide it away in my room where Giles will never find it." She patted the cushion, rubbing her hand along it. "I'll tell him Chair Gnomes did it."

Buffy laughed lightly, pausing on a sigh. "Willow, those girls--and there was a man--are being killed by a Wickaninnish." She sat back on her heels, waiting for the news to sink in.

Willow nodded, at a loss as to why that was so important. "Oh."

Buffy nodded as if she completely understood Willow's feelings and lack of a response. "I know, and I didn't want to tell you. I fought against it, in fact, 'cause I didn't want you to worry, but I was outvoted."

Frowning, Willow looked from one concerned face to another. All except Anya. She was still with the lady looking for the spell book-- oh, wait. Dead. Girls. Witches? "Buffy, what's a Wickaninnish?" she asked slowly, her suspicions showing quite clearly in her eyes and face.

"Oh, I thought you knew," Buffy answered, resting her hands on her thighs. "It's a witch hunter."

Willow's eyes widened and she tried to stand up, to get to a phone. "Tara. Is she all right? Is she--"

"Tara's fine," Buffy quickly assured her, holding her firmly in the seat with her slayer strength. "She's good. I talked to her earlier this afternoon."

She relaxed a bit, but not completely. There was a witch hunter out there and they hadn't bothered to tell her, to let her know? "Buffy, Xander..." she turned her angry gaze to her best friends, the hurt showing through, "why wasn't I in the loop?"

Xander sighed, looking defeated. "Sorry, Will," he said simply, shrugging his hands on the table before turning back around.

"If it were up to me, I wouldn't even be telling you now," Buffy told her, her mouth in a tight line, her eyes solemn. "I wanted to take care of this without you ever knowing, or at least not knowing until after I killed the Wickaninnish, but someone else thought you needed to be told." She looked over her shoulder angrily, her eyes falling on the person standing in the doorway to the training room.

Willow's eyes followed Buffy's, already knowing what--who--she'd see. There was only one person left. Spike was leaning against the jamb, his arms and feet crossed. His eyes slid from her to Buffy, then back again as he pushed away from the wall with a shrug.

"Left to you all, she'd be six feet under before you told her anything." He strolled unhurriedly to the ladder and climbed up a ways before sitting down. His boots clunked loudly as he settled them in front of him, crossing his legs and leaning back to watch them all. "Forewarned is forearmed."

Xander snorted rudely, shaking his head at Spike. "Like you care. Why are we listening to him again?" he asked hotly.

Anya and the woman bustled into the sudden silence, heading for the cash register. The woman's arms were full of books and she looked quite overwhelmed. Anya skirted the counter and stepped behind the register, bumping Giles with her arm as she did so, the smile never leaving her face.

The woman smiled a little awkwardly and dumped the books on the counter with a sigh. "Um, are-- are you sure I'll need all of these?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course," Anya answered, quickly ringing up the books so as not to lose the sale. "The more protection spells the better, I say. And you'll need ingredients," she said cheerfully, "you don't want your daughter to get hurt because you forgot to get fish tails and mushrooms, do you?"

"I-- I..." the woman looked like she wanted to refuse, but didn't want to look bad in front of everyone there. "My daughter has some things at home. She _is_ a witch. And she does spells. So, maybe I don't need to buy all--"

"Nonsense," Anya disagreed, waving away the woman's protest as she bagged the books. She ducked behind the counter, coming back up with a jar in each hand, both filled with dried animal parts. "Your daughter could get hurt, you don't want--"

The woman's eyes widened and she looked a little green. "I think I'll wait and check to see what my daughter has before-- um, are those real eyes?"

Giles handed the woman her bag and took the jars from Anya, replacing them beneath the counter. "Have a nice day, ma'am, and don't worry about the other..." he cleared his throat uncomfortably as the woman handed him her credit card. "Oh, yes, I suppose paying would help." He cleared his throat again. The rest of the transaction was made in silence.

Anya glared at Giles a little, but refrained from sniping at him.

As the lady left, Giles kept his strained smile on. "Anya, what have I told you about badgering the customers?" he said tightly, sighing when the door closed behind the woman and the bell faded away.

"That's why you never make any money," Anya complained, resorting to straightening items on the counter again. "You don't know how to go for the hard sell, it's all about--"

"Anya, shut up," Xander said in frustration, startling everyone there, but added, "Uh, honey," ruining the effect.

Anya frowned his way, then harrumphed away.

Willow stared at Xander's back, keeping her eyes trained solely on him. If she didn't, they'd drift towards Spike and that was something she didn't need to be doing right now. She was angry, and insulted. And kind of touched that Spike had championed her. In a way. But still angry.

"Why was I not involved here, guys? Research girl, remember? I could've been helping all this time." She wanted to say more than that, but couldn't find the words to express herself at the moment. They were all watching her, stealing looks her way, staring at her. Well, no, that last one was only Spike. But it made her nervous.

"Will," Buffy said gently, like she was a kitten who'd clawed up the couch, "you were hurt. You could barely get out of bed."

"Granted," she agreed, nodding a bit crookedly, "but-- there's something out there hunting what I am. I think that's pretty important."

"It is." Giles rounded the counter, darting quickly out of Anya's way as she headed toward the counter with a dust rag and began swatting it at the jars and books. "Willow, you must understand that things have changed since..." he paused, his eyes softening slightly, "since you killed Glory. We couldn't be sure what might happen."

Anya, ever the truthful pragmatist, told it like it was. "They were afraid you'd go evil again and kill someone else."

"Anya!" Xander yelled, standing up angrily and walking over to her. He grabbed her arm and hauled her with him toward the training room. "Excuse us, gotta talk."

Willow sighed, knowing she should be wondering what was up with Xander, but they were worried enough and she had her own problems. Her friends thought she was going to kill again? Did they think Ben was innocent? That she'd killed him just for the heck of it? She'd been eliminating a threat from their lives, a huge threat. The biggest.

"I think I wanna go home," she said quietly, climbing to her feet a little too quickly. Pain tore through her back, but she ignored it. She didn't need their sympathy right now. They thought she was a murderer. "Dawnie, you wanna walk with me?"

Dawn closed her book with a snap, nodding. "Sure. But, shouldn't we have some muscle too?" She bit her lip, looking toward Buffy.

"No," Willow said stupidly. She was in no condition to protect herself, let alone Dawn as well. Of course they needed someone to go with them, but at the moment, she really didn't want to talk to Buffy. "We'll be fine."

"I'll drive you," Giles said quietly, grabbing his keys and starting around the counter. "Get your things, Dawn."

"No." Again, that was Willow turning down an escort.

"There's no room for discussion on this," Giles insisted. "I'm driving you. Come on." He walked past her to the front door, holding it open as he grabbed his jacket from the rack beside the door and waited for them.

Willow walked past him without acknowledging him in any way. She went straight to the red convertible and waited.

She was not evil. Why would they even think that? Didn't they know her well enough to know that she wouldn't just... kill willy-nilly? Apparently not.

Giles came out a minute later, followed hastily by Dawn carrying her books. Her papers were stuck inside her books, sticking out this way and that. She dropped her pencil and bent down to pick it up, giving Giles a nice, healthy glare as she did so.

"Couldn't wait an extra thirty seconds so I could put these in my backpack?" she muttered, striding past Giles to the back of the car.

"Take the front, Dawn," Willow told her, climbing slowly into the back seat. The front would entail conversation most likely, and she didn't want to have any at the moment. She wanted silence and time to think. Think, not about their subtle accusations of her being evil, or even about Spike, nope, she wanted to think about Tara.

Her first and immediate thought had been for Tara when she heard about the witch hunter, but it wasn't in the way one might expect a lover--or recently broken-up lover--to feel. She'd been worried and afraid for her, but not in the sweat-inducing, heart-pounding way she'd felt when she thought Tara was going to leave her to be with her family.

She'd been worried about her as a friend.

She hadn't spent one moment thinking she'd never hear Tara's voice whisper to her in the middle of the night, or feel her hands on her. She didn't worry that she'd never feel Tara's kiss again, or miss the sounds she made during sex. What she'd worried about was missing her as a whole.

Giles circled around the car, glancing at her briefly, but begging off saying anything. Dawn climbed in the front, dropping her things to the seat beside her with a sigh. He slid behind the wheel, started the car, and sat there for a minute, looking in the rearview mirror at her. But not leaving.  
Just leave, she wanted to shout at him. Turning her face to the side, she glanced inside the shop, seeing Spike and Buffy arguing again.

He looked in her direction almost at the same time as she saw him, but his attention was right back on Buffy. Well, guess he wasn't over that little love-thing he had for her.

Jealousy now? she screamed at her mind. Of all the stupid times to be thinking about something as pathetic as that. Okay, not so pathetic, she knew. She cared about Spike. Obviously. Kissing a person tended to make her take notice of things like that.

Giles sighed at her lack of attention toward him and finally put the car into gear, pulling out into the street. Dawn asked Giles a question, which got them both talking quietly. Willow ignored their chatter throughout the drive, preferring to keep her own company for the time being.

She was free now, and Spike was someone she had a sudden interest in, but he wasn't free. And he loved Buffy. The question was, where had this sudden interest for him come from? She hadn't even known it was there before he kissed her. Well, maybe a little before that. When she caught him and his girlfriend in the middle of... stuff. There'd been a little uncomfortable wriggling in her mind that she later identified as jealousy.

Or envy. Maybe it was just that she envied him his happy sexual relationship. Hers had been going downhill for some weeks and then to hear Diana, a Goddess for heaven's sake, say that her happiness lay elsewhere... well, it was a little much to take in.

So, were her newfound feelings for Spike going to be a problem in her newfound life of less than supportive friendships to bask in?

No.

She'd simply forget about him, and move on with her life. Even if it was a life without supportive friends. Or a lover. Or... the self-confidence to use magick again. Ho hum.

She laid down on the back seat, keeping her back to the front of the car so it wouldn't rub, and closed her eyes, feeling the wind blow her hair around and slip under her clothes. The loose shirt she had on now was less revealing than last night's mistake, but it had big sleeves for the wind to slip through. She shivered in the cool night air, wanting nothing more than to lay down on her bed and go to sleep under the nice warm blankets, hugging Harvey, the stuffed penguin she'd gotten as a birthday present from Xander when they were eight.

Giles pulled up in front of Buffy's house and turned around to talk to her, resting his arm along the back of the seat. She pushed against the seat in a hint for Dawn to get out and waited, not looking at Giles. As soon as Dawn was out, she followed suit.

"Willow, we love you. We're only concerned that the magick is still with you." Giles' voice raised over the sound of his car door shutting, and she just knew he was heading up the sidewalk with them, intending to explain things.

To make her listen.

Placating him seemed like the best way to avoid a long drawn out conversation filled with accusations and betrayals, so she nodded and smiled. "I know, Giles. I understand, I do, but I--" oops, there wasn't supposed to be a but, there was supposed to be agreement and then a goodbye. "I'm hurt that you guys act like I killed him just for the fun of it."

"We think no such thing," Giles retorted angrily, drawing his brows together to glare at her. "Willow, have we ever given you reason to think we'd actually accuse you of... of killing someone for the simple pleasure of it?"

She dug her keys out of her pocket with a sigh, wishing he'd just go away. But that didn't seem likely. Sticking the key in the lock, she opened the door and motioned Dawn to precede her inside.

"Finish your homework," she told Dawn, reaching inside to turn on the porch light. As Dawn sighed and headed into the dining room to do her school work, Willow turned back to Giles. "You as much as said you did," she answered, just as angrily.

"No, what I said was that we were afraid of what might happen." He pulled his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a few seconds as he calmed himself down. "Look, the magick you were inside of was pure. It's different from the magick used during spells. Spell magick is... is earth-bound. It's governed by laws and rules. This stuff wasn't."

"I know that," she sighed, sitting on the brick pillar to face him. "I know. I mean, you guys don't seem to want to let me forget. I screwed up. Again. My fault. Again." She looked out across the yard, wondering if it had ever rained the night before. "I get it," she whispered.

Giles sighed, replacing his glasses as he sat on the opposite pillar. "No, I don't think you do. This is our worry. Our-- our concern for you. We don't want you getting hurt." He set his hands on his thighs and stared at her. "Have you considered the fact that the magick may still have a hold on you?"

Okay, startling. "No. I-- I mean, I'm fine. Feeling really non-evil and stuff. Nothing unusual has happened..." she trailed off, remembering Spike's hands on her, his lips settling softly, one last time, on the nape of her neck, the look in his eyes as he watched her. Perhaps she was being a bit hasty in her dismissal of the magick. It wasn't unbelievable that Spike could have an interest in her, but it was all rather sudden. Her own feelings had come about so quickly. What if she'd said or done something to make them attracted to each other?

Oh, god. What if it was another 'my will be done' spell? He'd kill her for sure this time. Good thing he had that chip hanging around in his brain.

Giles sat forward intently, waiting for her to continue. "What is it?"

"Oh," she said dismissively, waving her hand in front of her, "nothing. I was just trying to remember if anything weird had happened. But, there's nothing," she said cheerfully, standing up and heading toward the door.

She had to talk to Spike. But, how to get a hold of him? Call the shop, ask for him? Big no. She couldn't go to his crypt and wait for him... even if she could move around. Girlfriend issues.

Giles touched her arm, halting her speedy retreat. He hugged her quickly and awkwardly, smiling a little at her surprise. "Feel better. Another application of the salve should get rid of the ache and the muscle pulling." He chuckled as he headed toward the stairs. "I'm rather happy Spike isn't here tonight, but I suspect Dawn will do as well."

"Mm," she agreed, hurrying inside. She shut the door, leaning back against it with her butt. What to do, what to do? Nothing. That's what she'd do. Wait to see if it went away on its own, and, barring that, wait until the next time she saw Spike. There was no way to actively seek him out, so, waiting was the way to go this time.

Flipping off the porch light, she locked the door and glanced into the dining room. Dawn was at the head of the table, her books spread out in front of her, her lip between her teeth as she thought, then scribbled her answer on the wrinkled piece of paper in front of her.

"Need some help?" she asked. Homework was the last thing she wanted to do right now, but at least it would occupy her mind, leaving her unable to feel guilty and horrible for possibly putting a spell on Spike.

"Nope," Dawn answered, looking up briefly from her book with a smile. "I think I can handle the history homework on my own. It's the math I may be begging you to help me with later."

"Okay." She looked longingly up the stairs, wanting to climb up there and go to bed, but she didn't want to leave Dawn alone down here. She was old enough to watch out for herself... in a normal town maybe, but here? Nah. Instead of her bed, she headed into the front room and the company of the TV.

Without Spike this time. Dropping onto the couch, she sat back gingerly, turning on the set. After five minutes of surfing, she found a show on the discovery channel about vampires. She left it there, but soon changed when she found out the 'vampires' were actually humans with a taste for blood.

Music videos it was then. And a few aspirin.

The kitchen was dark when she went in there, but she left the light off as she grabbed a can of soda for her and another for Dawn. She popped the top, downing three aspirin with a gulp of the soda. Her back seemed determined to make itself as annoying as possible. It was starting to itch now as well, and some of the muscles were twitching.

"Here ya go." She set Dawn's soda on the table by her papers and headed back into the living room just in time to change the channel from one of the boy bands she hated. After another five minutes, she turned it off and went in search of her laptop.

Research gal to the rescue.


	11. Chapter 11

Willow started awake when someone knocked on the front door. She almost dropped her laptop to the floor, but caught it as it started to slide down her legs. Setting it on the cushion beside her, she frowned, trying to orient herself.

Dawn poked her head into the front room with a cheerful, "I'll get it!" Then disappeared toward the front door.

"Dawn, wait." Willow untucked her feet and stood up, shaking off the dizziness of standing up too quickly. "Don't--"

"It's only Spike," Dawn called back in an irritated tone. "And he can't come--"

"Hey, Short Stuff," Spike called to Dawn as he passed by her and moved straight into the living room.

"--in," Dawn finished before slamming the door shut and standing there with her hands on her hips. "Why can he come in? Does Buffy know about this?"

"Giles knows," Willow answered, frowning as she thought about it. "I don't know if Buffy--"

"She knows," Spike said flatly, taking his duster off and tossing it over the arm of the couch. "I was still here when she came home."

"Oh." That was news to Willow. "I thought you left after I fell asleep," she admitted, sitting back down with a sigh of comfort. She could hardly remember what it felt like to be pain-free anymore.

He sat in the chair, sitting forward a bit intently. "Find anything?" He gestured toward her laptop, raising an eyebrow questioningly. When she shook her head, he nodded with a sigh. "Hey, Bit? Gonna stand over my shoulder glaring at me for the entire time I'm here?"

Dawn cleared her throat loudly and shifted from one foot to the other. "Maybe." She dropped her arms to her sides with a frustrated sigh. "You chained my sister up and set your pet vampire on her." Her accusing eyes settled on Willow. "Why are you even talking to him?"

Good question, Willow thought. Why was she talking to him? An even better question was why was she thinking about his hands on her back, his lips settling over hers, and his tongue doing the neatest things to her body? Picking up her laptop, she settled it on her thighs. "Dawn, go finish your homework."

Dawn huffed and shifted her feet, looking like she wanted to protest, but she simply stomped out of the room.

Spike tossed a look behind him and quickly stood up, joining her on the couch. "So why are you?"

Willow shrugged, unsure herself. He hadn't hurt Buffy... well, aside from tazering her sort of and almost getting her killed by Drusilla and Harmony. Again, she wasn't sure of the answer. "You protected her from Drusilla and Harmony," she said simply, fidgeting with the cord to her laptop. It'd come undone while she slept and the battery had run done some time ago. Plugging it back in, she restarted the computer and kept from looking at Spike.

"That right?" He moved closer, tossing another look toward the dining room to make sure Dawn wasn't watching. "Sure it's not something else?"

"Like what?" she asked innocently, pretending not to know what he was talking about. "You've helped Buffy. You helped me a couple of times. I--" she smiled a little tiny smile and shrugged. "I guess I sort of like you. As a friend," she hurriedly added.

"A friend," he repeated, nodding in consideration. "It's a start." Before she could comment on that statement, he tipped the laptop screen back a little and moved closer to her, making a big show of not being able to see well. "Could you tilt it just a little...? Perfect, thanks."

Willow went back to her Internet search, ignoring Spike as much as she could with his arm once again touching hers and his leg pressing close to her own. Sure liked the touching thing, didn't he? Okay, she could handle it. Absolutely.

"What have you tried so far? Witch hunter, wiccan hunter, witch killer?" He eyed her quickly, before returning his attention back to the screen. He actually seemed to be gaining interest in the computer. This was a good thing.

"All those. And Wickaninnish, which brought up a beach on Vancouver Island, and an inn... but not a whole lot on witch killers." She clicked a promising link that mentioned wiccans and then trailed off, but once there the black background and blood-dripping letters had her pressing the back button. "What's this guy do anyway? Do we know? Well, do you know, because I know nothing. Out-of-the-loop girl. That's me."

"Pity doesn't suit you well, love," Spike chastised, pointing to another search link. "Try that one." As she clicked on it and waited for it to load, he continued. "It steals their power. Sucks them dry."

"Ew. How?" She had visions of Glory sticking her hands inside her head and slinking around inside. The memory of that feeling alone was enough to make her squirm. It had felt dirty and intrusive. Violating. She hoped the witches being killed weren't suffering something similar. "Glory did this..." she held her hands out in front of her, mimicking Glory's movements, "brain sucking thing. Well, you were there."

The page of promise held nothing more than herbal recipes and spells, a personal Book of Shadows... oh, and it also sold things, like candles and athames. Hey, this could be helpful to her in future. Mmm, scented candles. And incense. Of course, Giles carried that stuff too. Back button again.

"It doesn't work the same way." He sat back a little, giving her some space to breathe and shift maybe if she wanted to.

No, don't shift toward him, you idiot. She rolled her eyes at herself and rolled her shoulders back, masking her movement toward him with trying to relieve her aching back. "What's it do? Details might help. I could search that."

"Your back hurting?" he asked instead of answering her. His eyes found hers, a seductive smile creeping up his lips. "Need some more salve?"

"Uh, no," she denied, wanting nothing more than to jump to her feet and scream for the world to hear just how much she did indeed need more salve. And for that salve to be applied by Spike, and Spike alone. But she didn't and she wouldn't. "Nope. I'm good."

"Really," he said slyly. "Then, why is Dawn standing back there with the jar of salve in her hand, shifting from foot to foot, waiting for the best time to interrupt?"

Willow looked from Spike's smug face to the empty foyer. "Dawn?" she called, not really expecting her to answer, at least not from the foyer. "Whatcha doing?"

Dawn stepped forward, looking a bit sheepish and caught. "Um... Giles mentioned the salve and I figured, Spike should go now so I can do that." She tossed a glare in his direction, raising her chin as she turned her attention back to Willow.

"I'm fine, Dawn, I don't need it. Now." She ducked her head, going back to her search, wishing the two of them would leave her alone about the salve. Yes, she needed some right now and, yes, she wanted it applied. But she didn't want Spike to leave so Dawn could do it. She wanted Dawn to leave so Spike could do it. "Way fine, just... perfect. Thanks, though."

Dawn sighed, acting like a ten-year-old as she shrugged and started out of the room. "Whatever. But when he kills you," she muttered, "I don't wanna hear about it."

Willow burst out laughing, trying to hide it from Dawn, but judging by her stiffening back, she'd heard.

"Hey, Half-pint, toss me that stuff, would ya?" He held his hands out to catch the jar, looking oh-so-innocently in Dawn's direction.

Dawn turned back around, her eyes narrowing on Spike. "Why?" She looked at Willow, and had to catch the widened eyes and blush creeping up Willow's cheeks as she ducked her head even further to her task. "Willow?"

"I'll put it on, pet. You go do your school stuff." He was acting as if nothing had changed between him and Dawn, and that was throwing Dawn's snit off.

She frowned, wanting to agree, but her common sense got the better of her. "No."

Willow sighed in relief. Good, she didn't need to explain to Dawn why he wanted it, though she was a bright girl and there was only one reason for him to want the salve. Unless he was curious about the smell of it, he was so obviously going to try to apply it to Willow's back.

Dawn's attention was still on Willow however. Noting the lack of protests from her and the blush still heating her face, Dawn's eyes widened at Willow and she tossed the jar at Spike, narrowly missing his face. Without a word, she turned on her heel and headed out of the room. There was dead silence, similar to the calm before a storm.

"She's calling Buffy," Willow sighed, glaring at Spike. "What's wrong with you? I don't need, or want you to put that junk on me." She twisted in her seat, moving from side to side, showing him how unhurt she was. "See? All better."

He nodded, watching her move with a critical eye. His hand reached out suddenly and pressed against her shoulder blade, forcing a cry of pain from her. "I can see how better you are." He opened the jar and scooted back, giving her room to lay down. "Look, I'm just trying to help. That's all."

"Right. And I'm Glinda, the good witch." Maybe now was the time to tell him what she suspected. It might make him angry, and anxious to kill her, but he deserved the truth. "I think it's a spell."

He glanced up at her absently before holding the jar to his nose and pulling it away in disgust. Like it was going to smell better suddenly. "What is? The salve? Or your back?"

She lost her nerve. Something inside her was happy about his feelings toward her, whatever they were, and why-ever they were there. She wanted them to continue. Wanted him to want her, because, she really did want him. "The-- um, never mind. I was thinking about... something else." Sighing heavily, knowing she was putting herself into a position of badness, she stretched out on the couch and let him lift her shirt.

The first touch of his fingers as they grazed her back, raised goose bumps on her skin, making her shiver. She held her breath, waiting to feel his hands on her, waiting for that erotic feeling of Spike's hands, covered in something cold and wet sliding along her back, easing her muscles and beginning the process of turning her on to the point of insanity.

Okay, so she'd thought way too much about this. His hands were not erotic, and they didn't make her all hot and bothered with a single touch.

When they finally did touch her, they weren't cold, or covered in salve. He slid them along the middle of her back, caressing and rubbing in all the right spots to make her moan, which she did quietly. After a few seconds of the delicious feeling, she managed to remind him why they were doing this. "Salve," she muttered, swallowing thickly. "It works better if you use it."

"Mm." He didn't so much say it as he voiced it. Just a rumble in his chest. He leaned forward. She felt his shirt brush across her back, and then his lips, though they didn't touch her. He whispered in her ear, his voice husky and filled with the same thing she was filled with. Desire, and lots of it. "What are you doing to me?"

She went still, knowing this was the time to tell him. To be honest. "A spell," she blurted out. "I-- I think it's a spell."

His hands halted on her waist, squeezing her a little too hard. "What?" he forced out between stiff lips. "You did a spell on me? Again?"

Oh, and there was definitely fury there. Definitely some big-time anger. And deservedly so. She turned on her side to look at him, her eyes filled with apology. She opened her mouth to say yes, but then just nodded and dropped her eyes.

"What is it this time?" he ground out, pushing to his feet to stare down at her. He twisted the lid back on the jar with enough force to break it, but didn't. Slamming the jar down on the table, he paced away. "What in bloody hell is the matter with you, Willow? Your magick is a hazard to you and everyone else around you." He paced back, dropping to the couch beside her, taking her face in his hands. "What did you do to me?"

She tried to pull away from his hands, but he held her there, glaring at her, making her feel about two inches tall. "I don't know. Giles said the magick from that night might still be with me, and that's when I noticed this-- this thing for you... but I didn't know. I didn't do, you know, whatever I did, on purpose."

He frowned, loosening his hands on her cheeks, rubbing his thumbs absently against her temples. "The night you killed Glory?"

She nodded, fighting tears, not wanting him to run from her. Not wanting him to go back to wanting Buffy. If he'd ever stopped. Or his girlfriend. Ugh, her life was so messed up.

He laughed deeply, shaking his head at her. "This started before then, love. You didn't do it; at least not with magick." He leaned forward, pressing his lips lightly to hers. "It's real."

She stared back at him in obvious disbelief. He'd had a woman in his crypt the night she killed Glory, that much was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes and ears. "Before then? How-- how long before then? Because, you know, I walked in on you and..."

He sighed, settling more comfortably on the floor, sliding his hands down to her shoulders and then her hands. "That was just a diversion. Didn't work," he said with a dismissive shrug. "I'm not sure when I started falling for you. But the night I ran into you at the Magic Box? I--"

"Wait a second," Willow cut him off abruptly. "What do you do mean 'just a diversion'?" She tried to pull her hands out of his, but he resisted. "You trying out for the Don Juan of the year award?" she asked, only half-joking. "And what about Buffy? I thought you loved her."

Spike looked up, embarrassed and angry. "Since that spell you cast, where we were engaged..." he glanced away for a split second, his face distracted, "I've been drawn to her, obsessed even. It was so intense, I didn't know what to call it other than love. But it was never the same as what I felt for Dru. Or for you."

Willow's face was still tight, but her heart was no longer racing and she was no longer trying to move away. He continued doggedly even as Willow kept her face turned away.

"There hadn't been anyone since Harm. Buffy wouldn't give me the time of day and you were with Tara." Spike's voice trailed off for a moment as he shrugged uncomfortably. "I needed someone for a while, you know?"

Something melted in Willow when she heard that stark declaration. That kind of loneliness was something she could relate to. Big time. And at least she knew his feelings for her were there before the magick mess-up. And before her spell to talk to Diana as well. That was all good news. Wonderful news. But then she frowned suddenly, remembering something else. "You did sniff me!"

He shrugged one shoulder, looking anything but apologetic. "Can't help it." Dropping her hands, he stood up, resuming his seat beside her. Her shirt was lifted again, his hand landing on her shoulder to press her down softly. "You should bottle that scent." He leaned forward, inhaling deeply, dropping a kiss on her shoulder, then her neck. Lower, to the middle of her back.

She squirmed, feeling so naughty for allowing Spike to touch her and kiss her, to caress her and smell her. And last night, she'd felt parts of him that she'd almost gotten a glimpse of that night in his crypt. Felt his erection; cradled it between her legs, rocked against it very briefly, just for a moment before coming to her senses.

"Spike," she whispered, closing her eyes and resting her head on her hands, "as good as that feels, and, boy does that feel good, I don't think you should... we shouldn't. At all. Ever." She wanted to whine and pout and cry. Doing the right thing was always hard, no matter what anyone said.

"Why not, love?" He was whispering in her ear again, not playing fair at all. "We're adults, we can make our own decisions." His hands tightened on her waist again, rubbing harder. "Don't let Buffy make this one for you."

Buffy. That was very possibly the last thing he should've said. She tried to sit up, but he held her still, grabbing the jar and making a show of opening it and scooping some out. "You still have feelings for her," she protested. "And I love Tara."

"Let's not," he said darkly, slathering a healthy amount of the salve onto her back. He slowly and gently rubbed it in, but there was no sensuousness to it this time. "Let's not bring them into this, okay?"

All business-like, he finished rubbing the ointment in and capped it, wiping his hands on his jeans. Setting the jar down on the table, he turned to her with a baleful look.

"Why do you do that? Think everything through until there's nothing left but the facts, minus feelings, minus intuition, minus everything. And then you reason it through some more and come out with the only logical answer for yourself: That it's wrong."

Willow sat up, pulling her shirt down. It stuck in a few places and she couldn't reach back far enough to unstick it. Spike sighed, reaching behind her to loosen it. "I don't do that. I've-- I've done a lot of wrong things. A lot. I mean, hello, spells? You just got through yelling at me about them." She took a quick drink of her soda and stood up. "See? Stupid idea, leading to nothing but-- mm." The moan wasn't a part of her angry rant, but it more than expressed how Spike's lips on hers felt.

His mouth opened on hers, his hands gripping her arms and pulling her toward him. One of his hands slid down her back, very lightly, and landed on her butt, pressing her even closer to him, letting her feel the reaction she'd had on him.

She hoped it was from her.

"That," he said, pulling away to kiss her jaw, "is in no way a bad thing, Willow." He kissed her again, more deeply this time, before sliding his tongue along her lower lip. "I want you--the real you--and I'll do just about anything to have you."

Willow's mind was stuck back on the wanting part. Spike wanted her. That much was very obvious, the results of that want were currently pressing into her abdomen. It felt good, so very good. She missed being wanted. Tara had wanted her until the end, as she'd wanted Tara, but it was different. And then the killing of Glory, and the isolation from her friends, and being cooped up in the house.

She was needy, and she admitted it. Needed a whole lot of contact to feel alive. To feel worthy.

And she wanted. Wanted someone to touch her. A touch that made her feel beautiful and loved.

She kissed him back, sliding her arms around his waist, to keep him there, to let him know she didn't want him to leave. Even if she said she did. Pulling back for air, she rested her head against his shoulder, staring at the white expanse of flesh visible above the collar. It looked so soft. Touchable. She glanced up at him, then back at his neck.

Sliding her hand along his shoulder, she explored his skin, touching him just where she wanted to, how she wanted to. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss on his neck, which he seemed to like, since he sighed, then she moved lower, pulling the shirt down so she could reach more of him. She kissed his shoulder, then his chest, the small bit she could see, and lowered the shirt further.

He dipped his head to capture her mouth, kissing her so hard she had to fight to keep her balance. His hands went around her again, resting on her butt to hold her still. His mouth moved over hers, demanding in its urgency. Her hands slid further into his shirt, the fingers of her right hand brushing over something strange.

She moved away, not allowing him to recapture her mouth, much as she wanted to. Frowning, she pulled his shirt away from his shoulder and looked down at it. "What is... that?" she asked, trailing away when she saw the bite mark.

"Got bit last night," he said, looking down at the bite. "Hurt like a bugger too." His hands brought her closer, his eyes caressing her face with the promise of sensual things to come.

Her mind was doing that thing he'd only just accused her of doing. Working overtime. The bite wasn't from a vampire, it looked human. How had a human bitten him? Why had a human bitten him?

"What happened?" She looked up at him, waiting for an answer.

He smiled and kissed her lightly. "Lairman demon. It wanted my crypt; I didn't wanna give it up." He shrugged, looking unconcerned. "It's not that bad a bite."

"Okay." She believed him. Why would he lie? Unless he'd gotten the chip out or it was malfunctioning... which was a possibility. But he wasn't acting weird or cagey, so she decided to believe him. "Did you clean it? What if the demon has rabies or something demon-y?"

"It's fine," he said, dismissing her concern with a wink. "However, other parts of me are not so fortunate." He shook his head sadly, the mock regret in his voice making her crack a smile.

"Oh, really. And, uh, where would these other parts be?" She held a hand to his forehead. "Here?"

"Lower. Much lower," he whispered, taking her hand from his forehead and guiding it to his thigh. "Now you're getting warm."

"So are you," she noted, nodding wisely as she slid her hand around to cup his butt. "This it?" Her laugh was smothered by his mouth, cutting off her taunt about-- what was it again? Who cared? Her arms went around him in surrender, her mouth moving against his with abandon. His hands cupped her butt, lifting her against him, letting her feel every inch of his lean, muscular body.

He tore his mouth from hers, trailing frantic kisses along her jaw and neck, settling on the pulse point there. He paused for a brief moment, then nibbled her ear, licking the flesh below it. "How do manage to smell different every time I see you?"

She shrugged, dropping her head to the side with a gasp. Desire curled up in her belly, sending shocks of want and need through her. "I don't know," she admitted, having no idea what he smelled coming from her. "I don't wear perfume-- oh, that tickles," she giggled, standing on her tiptoes to give him better access.

"Apples and cinnamon that night in the magic shop." He ran his tongue along her jaw, grinding against her a little. "Vanilla last night." One hand slipped under her shirt, the cool skin of his palm, rough and callused, touching her stomach and breasts, pushing her bra out of his way. "Tonight," he breathed, drawing in a sudden, sharp breath, "tonight you smell like cherries." He went still, holding her tightly to him, opening his eyes as he raised his head to look over her shoulder. "We have company."

It took a minute for his words to sink in. As he pulled away, he dropped his hands to his sides, then lifted one, rubbing a hand across his forehead and she finally understood what he'd said. She stood still, afraid to turn and look to see who it was. She cradled her head in her hands, horrified by being caught kissing and groping Spike.

"Oh, god," she whispered, her face flaming as bright as her hair. She licked her lips, taking in a few deep breaths before turning to face the accusatory look of-- "Dawnie."

Dawn's face showed nothing more than shock and disbelief. "Willow?" she said in confusion, her frown widening as she took in every detail of their disheveled and flushed faces. "I-- I--" she shook her head, unable to absorb what was obviously happening. "Oh, wow." Her eyes widened, her breath leaving her in a sharp exhalation. "But." She looked toward the door. "What about Buffy?" she practically yelled.

Spike sighed impatiently. "What about her?" Dropping to the couch, he kicked at the coffee table, almost petulantly. "She wants nothing to do with me. And I don't think I want anything to do with her either." His eyes lifted to Willow's. "Not anymore."

Willow was relieved; that certainly helped her deal with it all. And how. "Dawn, I didn't... well, we weren't..." very believable, Willow, very much not a lie. "Buffy doesn't want--"

Dawn sighed heavily, gesturing toward the door. "I mean, what about what she's going to do when she comes in here and finds the two of you practically-- well, you know what-ing, here in her living room?" She moved past them to kneel on the couch and look out the window, moving the curtain aside. "She's on her way home."

"What?" Willow gasped, darting a look around the living room as if Buffy had just magickally popped in. "When? No, wait, it doesn't matter." She turned to the man she wanted to take upstairs, even now. "You need to go. She'll-- well, I don't know what she'll do, but it can't be good."

"Yeah, and?" He stood up, gesturing to Dawn to leave them alone. For once, Dawn didn't argue or complain; she went silently, keeping watch at the front door. "I told you earlier, you're an adult. Time to make your own decisions, Willow."

"But, I can't," she told him, shaking her head frantically. "I'm not ready to do that yet. Not now, not while I'm still hurt and unable to fight back with--"

He burst out laughing, rubbing her arms with his hands. "You don't think she's going to hurt you, do you?" He shook his head with another laugh, kissing her forehead. "You're so damn..." he trailed off, sighing as he shook his head, at a loss, "amusing." His chuckles deepened, following her as she paced away.

She tossed him a scoffing look. "I meant verbally. You know there's going to be huge fighting. And I'm not feeling a hundred percent." Stopping in front of him again, she dropped her head back and sighed. "Buffy will not be okay with this. Ever." She stared at him, looking at his beautiful face, so full of... desire. That's all there was, and a little amusement. Possibly some disappointment that she didn't want to tell Buffy about them.

"All right," he agreed, nodding once as he grabbed his duster from the chair. "We stay silent until you're ready to ask your friends for permission to see someone you want to see."

His scornful eyes and clenched jaw almost changed her mind, but she stuck to her guns. She moved forward, resting her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, I-- I just can't yet."

"Okay, well, when you grow a backbone, let me know. If I'm still interested..." he shrugged, turning on his heel and heading into the foyer.

"Hey," she called angrily, "you're giving me orders here?" She followed after him, moving better since the salve went to work on her a few minutes ago. "I have backbone, mister. I'm just not as fickle as you are."

Ignoring Dawn's rapt attention on them, Spike strode toward the door, yanking it open and standing in the entrance. He turned back around to face Willow, his voice low and even. "There's only one woman in my life now and that's you."

Willow's anger left her in a flood of regret, leaving her feeling drained. "Spike, I'm sorry--"

"Save it. But you better make up your mind soon, because I won't wait around forever." He stepped outside and closed the door behind him, leaving a pregnant silence in his wake.

"Are you okay?" Dawn asked quietly. "I mean, I don't get it. Don't even pretend to understand what's going on here, but... are you all right?"

Willow nodded, turning away before the tears could fall. In the forefront of her mind was a nagging question: Since when was Spike someone she cried over? Heading back into the front room, she sat on the couch, staring at the wall in front of her.

Dawn came in a few seconds later and sat beside her. "I'm sorry."

Willow smiled sadly. "It doesn't matter. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway."


	12. Chapter 12

In a cemetery on the edge of Sunnydale, in a place where the dead were long gone and no longer taking new arrivals, a creature known as a Wickaninnish looked at the girl screaming and crying.

He was impressed with her ability to produce so many tears in so little time. She sobbed and cried, pleading and begging. Her short blonde hair, tucked behind one ear, was a cute little perky hairstyle, reminding him of a pixie. Her voice though, that was getting on his nerves. She was loud, no doubt about it. Pretty too, but he didn't think he could take much more of her fearful sobbing.

"Doll," he said softly, "please give my ears a break, hmm?" He raised a purple eyebrow at her, seeing her eyes move to his pointy purple ears. "Yes, see, they're very sensitive, and the blubbering is all well and good for projecting your emotions, I mean, I'm all empathetic towards your pain, but..." he leaned forward, shaking his head a tiny bit, like it was something that just wasn't done in polite circles.

She sucked in a huge breath, her chest working overtime to keep in her sobs. Tears poured from her eyes, big fat wet ones, sliding down each cheek as she tried to get a handle on her emotions. "P-- p-- please," she begged softly, her mouth turning down into sobs again, her lower lip trembling in the cutest way. "Don't k-- kill--"

"I'm sorry, doll," he told her, shrugging his large, oversized shoulders. His wings, currently encased in his leather bomber jacket, shifted with the movement. "I have to. I can't take the magick without killing the body. It just doesn't work that way, you understand."

She shook her head frantically, sending her hair flying about her face like Dorothy Hamill in her early days. Ah, so cute. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, earning a frown from him.

"Hey, now, no need for all that. Just relax and I'll be done in a jiffy." He looked down at the body struggling underneath him, and removed his hand from the mouth.

"You son of a bitch! Let me go, fight me like a-- whatever you are," he ground out, the fear in his eyes hidden from his girlfriend, who was kneeling a few yards away. The boy, a jock by the looks of him, was acting tough and brave, but Ralph could feel him trembling beneath his body.

Ralph rolled his eyes in irritation, he hated repeating himself. "Didn't you just hear me explain it to your girl there? I have to kill you in order to get your powers." He raised his hand above the boy's forehead, ignoring the renewed struggle the boy was putting up. "Hold still, it'll go rather quickly."

"I don't have any power," the kid yelled, finally showing his fear. Tears slid from his eyes and he was sweating in the most offensive way. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

The fact that Ralph wasn't sitting on the boy's hips rather than lower on his legs, was something he was very grateful for because by now, he'd be wet and stinking of urine if he'd been just a little higher. "You're a witch, don't deny it." He tapped his purple nose, inhaling deeply. "I can smell your power. It's sort of my 'thing'."

The kid looked even more fearful now, shrinking back away from him with a look of disgust. "Dude, you better keep your 'thing' far away from me, got it?" He tried to pull his arms free, resulting in being held even tighter by Ralph's knees against his sides.

Big tough words from someone about to die, Ralph thought. "I meant it was my thing as in, it's what I do." He closed his eyes, nodding respectfully. "I'm a witch hunter."

The girl laughed hysterically, stifling her laughter when Ralph looked at her oddly. "Sorry," she mumbled, shrinking away again.

"Hey," the boy said, offended of all things, "you got the wrong gender there, buddy. I ain't no witch, and I ain't got no power except my wicked throwing arm."

Ralph rolled his eyes in an uncharacteristic show of annoyance. "Both men and women can be witches. Contrary to popular belief, male witches are not warlocks, they're witches. Evil witches are warlocks." Why did he have to explain this time and time again?

The boy fell silent, glancing at his girlfriend, his eyes softening ever so slightly as he took in her fearful state. "Why don't you let her go?" he said quietly, turning his attention back to Ralph.

"Oh," Ralph said, waving a hand toward the girl, "she's free to go. She hasn't got enough power for me to bother." He sighed, looking up at the moon, noting its downward arc had moved little in the time since he'd attacked the couple as they made out. "Everyone has a small amount of power," he confided with a shrug, "but not everyone uses it enough to make it grow. You have."

The boy frowned, shaking his head. "Straight up, man, I don't have any powers. I'm not a witch." His big brown eyes, so full of sincerity, raised to meet Ralph's again, his brown hair falling over his face making him look much younger than his seventeen years.

"I'm afraid you do, and I need them," Ralph told him regretfully. He sighed, shaking his head in puzzlement. "How can a boy as young as you, with as much power as you have, not realize it?" He grabbed the boy's face lightly, turning his head this way and that as he examined him. "Could it be-- no. Two witches in one town who have family powers? What are the odds?"

"Does this-- does this mean you'll let him go?" the girl asked hopefully, her wet eyes shining in the moonlight.

Ralph wished she was the witch; her eyes were so much nicer, their hazel color so varied that he couldn't pinpoint one from the multitude. "I'm afraid not," Ralph answered, holding his hand on the boy's forehead. He pushed the power through himself, into his hand, readying himself for retrieval. His hand began to burn, turning into a flame of white hot heat.

The girl screamed shrilly, scooting back frantically on the dirt and leaf-covered ground, dirtying her nice clothes.

The boy screamed as well, his eyes widening for one brief moment before the flame entered his head. The scream was cut off as the flame cooked his brain and scorched its way past his vocal cords. It followed the path of his body, absorbing every bit of magick as it went, filling itself up and growing wide enough that it was able to be seen as it traveled to his feet.

As quick as that, the flame left the body and entered into Ralph, filling him up with the delicious taste of magick. He leaned back, throwing his arms into the air as he inhaled all the magick, absorbing it into his every pore. When it faded away, simmering beneath the surface, Ralph turned to the girl.

"You might want to leave now, dear, I've found this part to be rather distasteful to humans." He pulled his small silver spoon from his jacket pocket and leaned down, prying open the boy's eyelid.

"Oh, my god," the girl whispered, scrambling away, making a great deal of noise. Probably drawing every creature nearby. She got to her feet when she was a safe distance away, keeping her eyes on him until she reached the edge of the clearing. Then she turned and ran, screaming at the top of her lungs as she went.

Ralph sighed in relief as the silence of the night descended on him once again. Just him and his eyes. He held open the boy's right eyelid and pressed the spoon against the outside of the eye, pushing down with gentle pressure.

The eye-removal wasn't a part of the magick retrieval; it was more of a personal thing. He liked human eyes. He had the largest collection in the western United States, and was hoping to gain the Midwest as well.

He scooped out the eye and held it up to the moonlight, examining it for flaws. "Ah," he said triumphantly, "perfect." Pulling out his hand-carved wooden box, made by three virgin men in China and blessed by the rare Premjun demons, he carefully placed the eye inside. The wax paper lining the box crinkled softly as the eye rolled to the other side of the box, coming to rest against the side, iris-side up.

Just as he placed the second eye inside and snapped the lid back into place, a noise sounded behind him, drawing his attention. He slipped the box into the inside pocket of his jacket and wiped the blood off of his spoon with the grass. Sliding the silver spoon into the pocket with his box, he stood up and turned around.

"Hey," a girl yelled, running toward him.

Whoever the small blonde was, she had some tremendous power radiating off of her, but it wasn't magick. This was something completely different. Its scent was thicker, harsher. Magick smelled like... strawberries and oranges. Vanilla and almonds. It had a flavor, every person who carried magick inside of them--which was nearly the entire human population and numerous demon species--had their own flavor, their own scent. This girl had no such flavor.

He didn't want to stick around and figure out what she was though, because she was strong. And, judging by the way she was jumping at him, she was unafraid.

As he turned to run, she soared across the distance between them, using a broken headstone as a jumping off point, and landed on him, taking them both to the ground.

"You're the Wickaninnish," she said angrily, glancing over at the dead, eyeless boy. His singed face had trails of blood running from the side of his eyes like bloody tears. "You're a monster." She drew her fist back and planted it on his jaw, then drew it back again and punched him in the eye.

Instead of answering, he closed his eyes and focused his new magick powers on the slight girl, placing his hands, palms out, on her shoulders, he pushed with just his fingertips, sending her flying across the cemetery. She dropped to the leaf-covered ground and was up again immediately.

Ralph wasted no time in climbing to his feet and running toward the tree line a few hundred yards away. "Hide," he whispered, glancing behind him as he hit the tree line.

The girl stopped for a split second when he disappeared, but then she continued after him, following his trail almost eerily. She had some kind of innate sensibilities to her, that was for sure. She kept on him for a few minutes, unerringly turning when he did.

He needed to get rid of her, because he now knew she was the Vampire Slayer. They were bad news, no matter what the creature. Didn't like anything that wasn't human. Stopping in his tracks, he watched her come to a halt and look around. She held herself still and closed her eyes.

Beautiful eyes. Definitely worth taking.

"Up," he whispered.

He watched her frown, and she even looked up in his direction as he rose to the top of a tree and perched on it, looking down at her. But she couldn't follow. Her magick wasn't strong enough. Her physical powers were all that she had and she didn't use those to their full extent either, so climbing a tree this high in the dark was beyond her.

A few minutes later, she sighed and gave up, leaving the way she'd come. Ralph watched her go, waiting until she was too far away to sense him before floating back down to the ground. He fell to his knees, dropping to all fours as he stared after the Slayer.

Climbing to his feet, he dusted himself off, brushing dirt and leaves from his hands and knees. His magick was depleted for the moment since he'd had to use so much of it at once, but it was still there, recharging and feeding his own.

"Well, now I'm irked," he muttered, sighing as he started off in the opposite direction as the Slayer. "She made me waste some of that young boy's magick."

********

Willow looked up as the door was pushed open, admitting Buffy. Dawn jumped to her feet, and ran to her sister when she saw the limping way she walked.

"What happened?" she asked, brushing Buffy's hair from her face to better see the bruised and scraped flesh of her right temple. "Are you--"

"I'm fine," Buffy said dismissively, wincing when Dawn's fingers tenderly probed the fresh marks. She looked past her sister, focusing on Willow who was still sitting on the couch, but was sitting forward intently. "I finally saw the damn thing." She winced again and brushed Dawn's hand away from her head. "Hey, Slayer stuff here," she told Dawn irritably, "not really needing the Nightingale routine."

"Too bad," Dawn huffed, striding past Buffy and into the kitchen.

Willow chuckled at the rolled eyes the sisters shared and hid a smile when Dawn stuck her tongue out at Buffy. She often felt like being that childish at times too, but she usually refrained. Clearing her throat, she sat up a little straighter. "You saw the Wickaninnish?" Finally, something she could do. Something she could help with. She hated feeling like a lumpen thing, lying around, watching TV, kissing Spike-- okay, not so lumpen then. "Did you stop it? Did you-- did you kill it?"

Standing up was a chore, but it was one Willow was willing to put up with in order to reach her laptop from the side table.

"What happened?" She plugged the cord into the laptop and handed Buffy the other end to plug into the wall.

Buffy bent over with a groan and plugged it in behind the couch, turning back to Willow while it booted up.

"This," Buffy said, pointing to her face. "And a few other things." She sat beside Willow, stretching her neck back and forth. "And then it went poof."

Well, that could mean anything, Willow thought, frowning as she considered what Buffy meant. "Poof as in smoke? Like Dracula? Or poof as in blowing up?"

Buffy shook her head, holding her arm in front of her face and reaching behind her back, pressing against the elbow to stretch her muscles. "The disappearing kind." She did the other arm and then flopped back against the couch with a sigh. "I tracked him for a bit, in the woods outside the old Mine Cemetery, but he-- well, I think he went up." She pointed to the ceiling, dropping her hand to her thigh tiredly. "I felt him, but I couldn't see him, or hear him. Saw a few branches shaking though." Pushing herself forward with another sigh, she peered at the laptop.

Flying. Neat-o. And a little scary with the from-above-attack. "What'd it look like?" She clicked her ISP icon, connecting her modem to the phone line, turning the volume down while it squealed to connect.

"Purple, if you can believe it." She chuckled at Willow's skeptical gaze.

"Like Barney?" Willow asked, shuddering at the thought of a giant purple dinosaur prancing around town, singing to the children and smothering people with hugs. Ugh, it was enough to give a person nightmares.

Buffy burst out laughing, her eyes going wide as she considered it. "Scary," she muttered, staring straight ahead for a few seconds before shuddering. "No, this guy was-- he had, um, pointy ears and-- oh, hey, he was quite the snappy dresser. Nice suit, a bit fussy-looking... I didn't get a real long look at him as I hopped on his back and tried to tackle him." She stood up with a groan, dropping her head back with a sigh. "He used magick, though. I do remember that. My _muscles_ remember that." She pointed to the upstairs and headed in that direction. "Just stopped by for a bathroom break and to give you the info, then I'm on patrol again."

"'Kay," Willow mumbled absently, looking up only briefly as Buffy left. A minute later, Dawn rounded the corner from the dining room, armed with a First-Aid kit.

"Where...?" she began, stopping when she heard footsteps upstairs. "Never mind. Guess I'll wait." She set the kit down on the chair and sat beside Willow, glancing at the screen. "So what's the new?"

"Not much so far," Willow answered, typing 'purple demon' in the search box. She set her pinky on the enter button and was about to press it when she decided to add 'flying' at the last second. Her eyes met Dawn's as the page loaded. "It disappeared, and it was purple. Also, there was a flying thing."

"A thing? What kind of a thing?" Dawn asked, on the verge of disgust. "I have issues with 'things' flying. I mean, was the thing the Wickaninnish's... uh, thing?" She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as she fought giggles. "Not that kind of a thing," she mumbled in embarrassment, and then a second later, "so, um... was it?"

Willow grinned, shaking her head. "The Wickaninnish flew: He was the thing. Not a separate... thing." She happily clicked on a new link that she hadn't been to, grateful for the distraction. She skimmed the page, not seeing anything of immediate interest. Still, there was another link that looked interesting.

As she waited for the page to load, she thought about Spike, wondered if maybe he was right. Should she bring him up to Buffy? Mention to someone that she was... was what? Attracted to him? Wanted him. Craved his touch. Had to feel his hands on her at least once a day or she'd go insane?

Okay, that last one would probably not be the best thing to mention. Ever.

But what about her feelings for him? He deserved that much, didn't he? He had feelings, and... well, she didn't want to hurt them. Or him. At all. God, she was in for it but good this time.

Only a week or two, and already she was in deeper than her heart could recover from. Hopeless romantic with a side of foolishness.

Turning to Dawn, whose intent face was fixed on the screen of the laptop, she exhaled. "About Spike," she began, flicking her eyes up to the ceiling, hoping Buffy didn't come bounding down the stairs just then. "I think, you know, for now at least, I'm going to keep it sort of... uh, not public."

"But, Willow," Dawn whispered, also darting a quick look upstairs, "he was really mad. I-- I think you hurt him." She glanced back at the laptop, fidgeting with her fingers, turning them round and round. "Why can't you just tell Buffy?"

Willow was tempted, so very tempted. Spike was right; she was an adult. Someone who could make her own decisions. But, she'd also been privy to Buffy's conversation with Joyce about Spike's feelings for her. "You have actually _met_ Buffy, haven't you?" she asked sarcastically. It was sometimes hard being the best friend of someone so... well, suffice it to say, Buffy often wore blinders. She saw things as good and evil, black and white. With a couple of exceptions, there were no gray areas.

"No, I've never met her, why?" Dawn asked with an equally sarcastic tone. Her eyes dropped to her lap for a second, then raised to Willow's face in determination. "Look, Willow, advice from a fifteen-year-old is never highly regarded, especially when the recipient is older, but," she held her hand up, halting the protest Willow hadn't intended to make, "I think you should tell Buffy. The sooner she knows, the quicker she'll warm up to the idea."

"I doubt she'll ever warm up to the idea," Willow laughed, glancing at the computer again. She wasn't avoiding telling Buffy anything, she just... had some things to deal with and she'd do them on her own. In her own way. And time, don't forget time, you putter-offer, you. "Do you think she will?" she asked hopefully.

Dawn shrugged, her face showing the lack of a clue there. "Probably. Eventually... right?" She looked unsure now, frowning when Willow turned to look at her. "Well, I'm not her, you know."

"I know. I do, but, I was sort of hoping you'd lie to me and tell me it wouldn't be as bad as I think it will be." She clicked a third link, this one having to do with magickal beasts. As soon as she got there, she knew it was another dead end. "Dungeons and Dragons. Of course," she said sarcastically. "What else would it be but that?"

They heard Buffy bound down the stairs, and grew silent on the subject of Spike. She'd changed into looser fitting clothes for better movement, and put her hair up in a ponytail. Her face was also scrubbed clean.

"A shower would be great for my poor, achy muscles," she pouted, dropping into the chair with a sigh, "but, no, a Slayer's work is never done it seems. Ho hum."

Dawn stood and retrieved the First-Aid kit from the chair, sending Buffy a not-so-sympathetic look. "Poor, baby." She set the kit on the arm of the chair and rooted through it. "Like it or not, I'm disinfecting you."

Buffy rolled her eyes, looking past Dawn's shoulder so she could see Willow. "Find anything?"

"Not yet," Willow sighed, scooting gently back into a more comfortable position. "I don't get it; there's, like, no information on these guys whatsoever. How'd you know what it was in the first place?"

Buffy hissed and drew back when Dawn dabbed a piece of cotton dipped into rubbing alcohol to the scrape on her face. "Ow," she said pointedly, glaring at Dawn. "I already washed it, you know."

"Big Slayer-baby," Dawn told her, purposely dabbing harder. "Want a sucker when I'm through?"

Buffy glared at Dawn for a few more seconds before turning her attention back to Willow. "Giles. He found something about them in..." she frowned, biting her lip in thought, "um, a book." She snorted at herself, rolling her eyes in self-deprecation. "God, that sounded so blonde, didn't it?"

Willow and Dawn both nodded in agreement.

Buffy sighed, looking tired as she slumped back against the chair cushions. "I'm lacking in the sleep department, so I'm entitled to a few blonde moments. Anyway, there was just a name--Wickaninnish--and what they do. That's it, nothing detail-y." She sat up, sighing as she stared at the silent TV. "It was all rather lacking in that department actually."

"All we know is that they Jones after witches," Dawn said, glancing at Willow over her shoulder before turning back to Buffy. She opened a Band-Aid, peeling the small plastic tabs off and started to put it on Buffy's temple.

"Neon orange? I don't think so." Buffy stayed Dawn's hand, shaking her head with a doubting look for her sister's sanity. "Some of us," she said with a grin, "have actually made it past the first grade." She slapped her arms on the chair arms and pushed herself to her feet, joining Willow on the couch.

Willow clicked to the next page of search results, seeing the possibilities dwindle even further. "How does it kill? Do we know that at least?"

Buffy half-nodded and half-shrugged. "Sort of. I mean, tonight was the first time I ran into it, and the kid was already dead when I got there." She frowned, staring at the far wall. "They're burned from the inside out. Singed all the way through."

"Oh," Willow said faintly, trying to be clinical and research-oriented, but... the thought of being roasted alive, inside out, was a bit of a downer. She really hoped they got this guy before anyone else was killed. "Okay, I'll add that to my search." She typed in the appropriate words and hit enter, being faced with a whole new realm of possibilities. "Why does it do that?"

"That we don't know," Buffy answered, swatting at Dawn when she stuck the Band-Aid on her as she passed by. "Thanks, now the vampires will be sure to see me tonight." She peeled it off, folding it up and tossing it on the coffee table. "Ugh, speaking of vampires--"

Willow's head darted up, and she was afraid she knew exactly what vampire Buffy had seen and what he might've said to her in that time. Had he told Buffy about the kissing and the making out and the groping sessions they'd been participating in lately?

Well, maybe it was best if she took the bull by the horns and told Buffy before Buffy could chastise her for not being honest with her. Or, clear her conscience, or... something noble like that. It wasn't because she was a big chicken or anything.

"Vampires... neat. Um, Buffy? Can-- can I talk to you? You know, about something?" She glanced over at Dawn who was sitting in the chair with a bottle of water, pretending not to suddenly be interested in their conversation.

In the process of standing up, Buffy dropped back down to the couch. "Nope. You can never talk to me at all, Willow. You know that." She looked from one to the other, a curious glint in her eyes. "Hmm, something Dawn already knows about, and you're being all secretive about. Patrolling can wait a few more minutes." She leaned forward, grabbing Dawn's water bottle. "Dish," she ordered Willow, taking a drink from the water and handing it back to Dawn.

Willow wanted to do just that. Wanted to tell Buffy the truth about Spike and her feelings for him, but Dawn was watching nervously, and Buffy was sitting forward eagerly, waiting for secrets. Secrets that Willow could guarantee her she wouldn't like.

She lost her nerve.

"Never mind, it's not important--" as soon as she said the words, she regained her nerve because it was important, very important.

Spike was important. She really and truly had strong feelings for him and she wanted Buffy to know.

"On second thought," she mumbled, "you'd better sit down. Oh, look at that, you are. Uh," she set her laptop on the coffee table and exhaled slowly. "There's this..." Okay, how to go about this exactly? She couldn't just blurt out that she had the hots for Spike.

"Will?" Buffy said worriedly, "is everything okay? You look a little green. Are you going to throw up? Um, trash can..." She started to get up, but Willow stopped her with a hand on her knee, shaking her head.

"No. No, I'm good." She thought about that for a second, felt the throbbing in her head, and changed that. "Well, actually, I could use some aspirin for my headache, but I'll get them."

Dawn jumped up, spilling water as she did so. She recapped the bottle and plopped it down on the coffee table, setting it to sloshing wildly. "I'll get them." She tossed Willow an encouraging smile as she ascended the stairs, and even gave her a thumbs up.

Buffy watched Dawn go with a confused gaze before turning back to Willow, sitting sideways to better face her. "So, what's the what?"

Her look of anticipation made Willow swallow hard as she fought to keep her courage wrapped around her like a cloak.

"Okay, so... there's this guy," she began, turning to face Buffy a little more slowly. "And this guy--"

"There's a guy?" Buffy asked, grinning, practically wiggling in her seat in anticipation. "Oo, Willow's got a guy." But then she stopped and furrowed her brow in confusion. "Wait a minute, there's a guy? I thought you were, um, 'gay now'?"

Willow nodded, clearing her throat nervously. Okay, so, here it goes. "Um, yeah, sort of. I-- I mean, not this time. Bi-sexual," she said desperately. "That... that's what I am. Guys and gals... I'm greedy, I guess." She tossed a smile to Buffy, hoping she interpreted it as joking and not sickly, like it felt at the moment. "So, now, there's a guy."

Buffy nodded in consideration. "Okay, works for me. Now," she said excitedly, acting like the teenager she hadn't been for a while now. "Who's this guy that made you switch teams again?"

"Switch teams," Willow chuckled, focusing on that part of the question for no particular reason except as a method of avoidance. "I like that analogy, I don't know why. But--" Seeing Buffy about to interrupt, she hurried to get back to the point. "Uh, not the point. He's a guy I've known for, um... years, a long time. And, it just sort of happened. All of a sudden."

"Really," Buffy said, looking like she was being faced with a sudden mystery. "Hmm, it's not Xander again, is it?"

"No. No, not Xander." She laughed at that, imagining Xander and Anya's reaction to her declaration of love. "Anya's love is safe, she can keep her man." Taking a deep breath, she began her explanation, skirting around the issue of who it was in order to explain why it was. "I only just realized it. Like, all of a sudden, poof, here was this guy that I'd known for a while and he was attractive. Well, he'd always been attractive, but I only just--"

"Realized it," Buffy interrupted, nodding dismissively. "Is it-- oh, god," she muttered, looking sick, "please, please tell me it's not Giles." She shuddered, a disgusted frown turning down her lips. "Ew."

Willow stared at her for a second, unable to believe Buffy could even think she'd have a thing for Giles. "Ew," she echoed, sticking her tongue out in disgust equal to that of Buffy's. "No. That's just--" She shook her finger at Buffy. "You're yuck."

Buffy closed her eyes with a relieved sigh. "Horror of horrors." A small smile followed her relief. "So... not Xander and not Giles, who--" her eyes darted to Willow's, her smile fading. "Oh, Willow, it's not--"

Willow nodded, swallowing again. She could really use some water about now to combat this dry mouth and nervousness. "It is." Buffy's face fell, and Willow could understand that. She was obviously concerned for Willow, afraid she'd get hurt, and Willow was right there with her. She, too, was afraid Spike would hurt her. But, what else could she do but try? She didn't want to run from her feelings, that was just not an alternative for her. "But, don't worry..." she wanted to tell her not to worry about her getting hurt, or being used or whatever, but she couldn't.

She didn't know herself what was going to happen, so she couldn't promise Buffy that everything would be all right.

Buffy stood up, pacing away from her. "How, um, how long have you... felt this way?" she asked quietly, her voice near breaking.

Willow frowned at Buffy, wondering at the sadness she'd seen in her eyes briefly before Buffy paced away. "I-- I don't know, exactly. Um, I only just realized it this past week."

"Is that why you and Tara broke up?" Buffy asked, turning back around to face Willow. "Because she knew?"

Willow shook her head, standing up slowly to look Buffy in the eye, to make sure she knew this wasn't a decision she'd come by lightly. "No, Tara was a whole other thing. Separate completely. She doesn't even know about--"

"Angel," Buffy finished for her, shaking her head. "I had no idea--"

"Spike," Willow corrected, her eyes widening when she realized what Buffy had said. "Oh, jeez, Buffy, you thought I meant Angel?" She darted forward, taking Buffy's hands with a smile of reassurance. "No. No way, I don't... ever, with Angel. I'm so sorry, I thought you knew I meant Spike." Seeing Buffy's eyes narrow and her frown deepen, she grew nervous again.

Uh-oh, cat, empty bag... and guess who'd done the lettin' out?

"Um," she dropped Buffy's hands, stepping back a foot or two, well out of striking distance, not that Buffy would strike her. Right? "Say something. Please?" she begged.

Buffy's eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she finally shook her head in disbelief. "Spike? You're in love with-- oh," she moaned loudly, "it's not love, is it?" She spun around, striding quickly into the foyer before turning around and facing her again. "Willow, how could you like--" She shook her head again, refusing to believe the truth of Willow's words, or the truth on her face and in her eyes. "No, I-- I can't believe it. It's..." she searched desperately for a reason for Willow to lie to her, but came up empty, "it's not true. You're-- you're the smart one. The one who doesn't get swayed by evil blood-sucking fiends," she finished with a pouted whisper.

Willow stepped forward, not wanting to, not wanting to be near Buffy when she finally went off. This calm would pass, Willow knew, and when it did, all hell was going to break loose. "It is true, Buffy. I..." she sighed, drawing in a deep, steadying breath, "I'm starting to fall for Spike."

Buffy shook her head for a third time, but stopped suddenly, smiling halfway through her denial. It was a smile that made Willow nervous. "Of course! Duh, I'm an idiot."

"What?" Willow was at a loss as to what Buffy was talking about. "You're...? No, you're not. Why are you?" She rolled her eyes at herself, and headed into the foyer with Buffy. "What are you talking about?"

Had Buffy gone completely round the bend?

Buffy waved her hand in dismissal as she sighed and laughed a little, looking way more relieved that Willow thought was necessary. "I'm an idiot for not realizing it right away." She moved forward, taking Willow's arms gently, her face softening. "You don't love--or even like--Spike, Willow." She pulled Willow into a hug, startling the other girl. "It's the magick. The stuff that made you go scary on us."

Willow frowned, pushing away from Buffy. "That's not what it is, Buffy. This isn't magick-induced." She shook her head and headed back into the front room, sitting on the couch a little harder than needed, hurting her back in the process. "I'm attracted to Spike," she told Buffy, her back straightening at the confession. She felt like a weight was being lifted from her shoulders. "I have feelings for him," she said loudly, nodding in agreement with her own words, realizing just then how deep those feelings already were.

Lost? Bah, she was more than lost. It was possible there was a little love swirling around inside her, gently poking at her heart like a kid with pin and a water balloon.

Buffy followed her into the front room, but stayed standing. "Willow, think about it. It just started this week? That's not a coincidence." She paced by, standing in front of the coffee table. "You don't even like Spike. You've never liked him. Now suddenly you have the hots for him?"

"It's not the magick," Willow repeated, her anger flaring up. Where was this coming from? "Oh, please," she scoffed, "like the only reason I could ever be attracted to someone not a goody-two-shoes is under the effects of a spell?"

Buffy actually looked even more convinced. She nodded, as if the answer was obvious. "You've had a taste of the darkness, Willow. It's enticing, very provocative, and Spike embodies that darkness in a nice, neat little package."

Willow rolled her eyes at Buffy and her nice, neat little answer. "That's not it. I have feelings for him, Buffy. And he--" she took a deep breath, preparing for the next bombshell. "He--"

"Is in love with me," Buffy finished softly, her eyes showing her regret. "As much as I'd prefer he wasn't, Willow--and believe me, I hate that he is--he..." she sighed, shrugging, "well, he is. Or at least he claims to be." She moved around the coffee table, sitting beside Willow to take her hands. "I don't want you getting hurt. And vampires hurt people, Willow. It's-- it's their thing, it's what they do."

Willow nodded, completely agreeing with Buffy. She knew this, she understood this. "I know. I've been right there beside you for the past five years, remember? But," she sighed, hating this. Hating having to explain things. "He doesn't love you, he never did." Seeing Buffy's skeptical look compounded by hope, she rushed to finish. "He thought he did. It's my fault, really. That engagement thing made him obsess over you. He said it made him feel something, something that'd been missing since Drusilla left him. It was strong, and real, but not love."

Buffy looked so hopeful, it was obvious she wanted to believe Willow's words, but she wasn't quite able to do so. "Or he's using you. He's lying because he wants you to believe him."

"Using me?" Willow asked incredulously, the words echoing her own thoughts. "Why would he be using me? What could he possibly accomplish?" She shook her head, not allowing herself to believe it. "Is he using me to get to you, Buffy? Is that what you think?"

"No. That's not what I meant, Willow, at all. If he's doing this for any reason, it's because he's a sick demon who gets his jollies from hurting others."

Willow felt a little guilty for accusing Buffy of being that self-involved. It wasn't true, it never had been. Buffy was one of the most selfless people she knew, it was just sometimes easy to forget that. "I'm sorry, I didn't really mean it. I'm just... this is all so confusing and new and I'm scared."

"He feels the same way? Or so he's said?" Buffy asked, not looking too convinced of that. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her mouth thinning into a tight line. "Do you believe him?"

Willow sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I don't know," she said truthfully.


	13. Chapter 13

Willow's body moved slowly and sensuously across Spike's crypt, enticing Spike to come nearer, to touch her. He resisted, as he'd been resisting for the past few hours. She was in a strange mood, this bot of his.

"Spike," she whispered, trailing a finger along his sarcophagus. The dust she collected on her fingertip was blown off with pursed lips and a breath of air. "Why won't you touch me?" She stopped and turned to face him, her eyes wide with an innocence she didn't know, that she wasn't familiar with.

He sighed, wondering what the real Willow was doing. Probably pretending she didn't have any feelings for him, pretending she didn't have a care in the world. Pretending he was a piece of chewed gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe, annoying her with every step she took, but not concerning her enough to say or do anything about it. To scrape him off.

To tell her friends about him.

He closed his eyes, dropping his head back to smack into the marble wall. The pain that shot through his head felt good, it helped to clear his mind, to make him realize that--

A hand touched his hip, sliding across his stomach to stop with clawed fingers, tightening minutely in the cotton of his shirt. Lips touched his ear, whispering to him, sending shivers of desire coursing through him. "I always want you, Spike..." teeth nipped lightly at his ear, nibbling on the lobe, her tongue sliding behind the flesh to lick at his neck. "Why don't you want me anymore?"

Her hand clenched tighter in his shirt, lifting it from his jeans slowly, inch by inch. Her other hand joined the first, teasing his flesh with light touches and scratches across his abdomen.

His eyes flew open when she slipped her hand under the waistband of his jeans, sliding down to cup him. He raised his hand, halting hers. He leaned toward her, pressing his lips to hers, devouring her mouth with all the desire he felt for her. For Willow. He spun them around, pushing her against the wall, pressing his body to hers, letting her feel how much he wanted her.

"I do want you," he told her, kissing her soundly before pulling away and striding across the room. "I want you all the time," he admitted, turning back to face her, breathing heavily, laughing as he gestured to his chest, which was rising and falling. "Isn't it obvious? I don't breathe, Willow. I don't--" he paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, calming his breathing, moving further away from her. "Just because I don't want sex all the time, doesn't mean I don't want you. Can't we just talk every once in a while?"

She pushed away from the wall, completely recovered from her lust-filled foray into being a sex-kitten. "You want to talk to me?" she asked in surprise. Her eyes went to the wall behind him, signaling that she was searching her software. A wide smile graced her lips. "I like to talk." She nodded excitedly, sitting stiffly on the chair arm. "Let's talk."

Spike turned away from her, hating to see her acting like a blasted robot. One minute she was all Willow, just like the woman he wanted so damn much, the next, she could've been anyone. It was at times like these that he wanted the real Willow even more than he normally did.

She had a unique voice, her own special way of speaking. She was different, not the usual run-of-the-mill woman with boring interests and stupid comments to make. She had insight and points of view, she was smart. Beautiful. Interesting.

"What would you like to talk about?" She frowned thoughtfully, processing information quickly, searching for subjects of interest to him. "Blood?" she asked perkily, her smile still firmly in place. "Killing? Torturing?" With each subject she mentioned, her smile faded until it was gone completely. She dropped her eyes to the floor, scuffing her shoes against the dusty floor. "I-- I don't want to talk about any of those things, Spike." She raised her eyes, pleading with him to understand. "Please don't be mad," she hurriedly added.

Mad? He was actually happy about it. Seemed the longer she was around, the more like the real Willow she acted. She was fighting against her programming, not happy with just pleasing him anymore. She now cared--was that even possible?--about things other than just him.

She wanted to be with her friends, wanted to do magick, to help kill the bad guys. Not because that's what her programming told her to do, but because it was something she wanted to do. She cared that he was now able to kill. She'd made him snack on bad guys, talked him into eating the nastiest of the nasty humans. That wasn't a part of her programming as far as he knew.

Nothing that'd happened with her at all was normal, though. She was supposed to be Buffy. Supposed to be the woman he... was falling out of love with. Had he ever loved Buffy?

He closed the distance between them, hating seeing her upset. Pulling her up by her arms, he kissed her. "I'm not mad, love. We can talk about anything. Whatever you want." He dropped into the chair, pulling her into his lap to cuddle. "Magick?"

"Mmm," she agreed, laying her head on his shoulder. "I've read all the books, and I think I'm ready to do a spell that will likely go wrong because I'm not very good at what I do." She lifted her head, smiling down at him. "We should go get some supplies. At the Magic Box."

He shook his head, frowning at the frown that creased her brow. Settling her head back on his shoulder, he sighed, wishing he could take her out. "Willow, pet... you, uh, you know we can't--"

"Why?" she inquired, once again raising her head to look down at him. "Spike, I haven't left this crypt at all, except when we went to find Warren. I'm getting cabin fever. I feel cooped-up." She climbed out of his lap, crossing her arms over her chest. "I want to go out." Glancing down at her feet, she stomped one, then glanced back up at him. "Now."

Pouting? His robot was pouting? He burst out laughing, sitting forward in the chair to take her hands. He kissed the backs of each one, still chuckling as he peered up at her. "Okay, love, okay. We'll go outside for a bit."

"Really?" she squealed, waiting for his nod before turning around with a jumping step as she rushed toward the door. "Come on, let's go!"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," he told her, stopping her just as she reached the door. "Ground rules first. Okay?"

She sighed, looking annoyed. "Okay, Overprotective Guy, just hurry up."

"If we run into anyone, and I mean anyone, most especially one of your friends," he emphasized, bending a little to look into her face, "you come back here. They're... uh, still angry. About us. They-- they don't like the idea of us together, and they might say mean things." He drew her closer, hugging her to him, hoping they didn't run into anyone at all. "I don't want you to be hurt by them. So..." he sighed, pulling back to look at her, "if we see someone, we turn around and leave, got it?"

"Yes. Yes. And, yes, Spike. Yes," she said impatiently, turning the doorknob with a yelp of excitement. "Let's just go."

Spike followed her into the night, hoping Buffy et al weren't patrolling his cemetery tonight. That'd be a fun one to explain. Then again, he thought, watching Willow take in the night air and the sliver of a moon with glee, if they ran into Buffy, and Willow didn't give away that she was a robot, maybe that'd take care of his problems with the real Willow. Buffy would then know.

And kill him. Maybe not such a good idea. Sigh.

He rolled his eyes at his thoughts. It was possible he was spending too much time around both Willows. The one with him currently hopped up on a headstone, parting her arms wide, tilting her head back as she closed her eyes.

"I feel so alive, Spike." She smiled, enjoying the simple pleasure of being outside.

Seeing Willow spreading her arms wide, inviting all and sundry to look at her, he had to think she was the most enticing woman he'd ever known.

Her hair, darker than the real Willow's, flowed down her back in a waterfall of red, reminding him of blood, something very near and dear to his heart.

The shape of her body was perfect; she had a long, pale neck leading down to a chest that sported small mounds of firm flesh. Her waist was trim, curving in and then flaring out again for her hips, just enough for him to wrap his arms comfortably around her. Long, muscular legs, shapely and strong, led to perfect feet.

She was just... breathtaking. Everything about her drew him to her. She breathed in deeply, drawing his attention to her back, which, on this Willow, was pale and unblemished. Unhurt.

"In a sea of death..." she mumbled, opening her eyes to stare straight up, balancing on the thin headstone, "I'm the only person alive in this cemetery." She spun around quickly, not losing even a small amount of her balance. "Maybe in the world."

"Feeling philosophical?" He walked over to her, taking her hand to help her down. Instead of jumping down, she hopped from one marker to another, moving fluidly. Graceful as a tiger. "Come down from there," he told her, tugging lightly on her fingers.

"Uh-uh." She pulled her hand free, jumping to the next marker with a giggle. "Come and get me," she taunted, wriggling her eyebrows at him.

"I'm not going to chase after you," he scoffed, eyeing her shapely legs and behind as she turned to the side and walked down the row of headstones in the aisle they were in.

"Suit yourself," she told him, shrugging as she turned away.

As soon as her back was turned, he grinned and headed after her, moving as quietly as he could. Stepping lightly on the grass, avoiding the twigs and dried leaves that littered the ground, he crept toward her, still watching that lovely backside of hers.

She continued to walk the headstones, slower now, but with just as much eagerness as before.

When he was right behind her, he reached up and pinched her butt, laughing when she squealed and spun around, falling right into his arms.

He caught her easily, kissing her quickly before setting her on her feet. She laughed lightly, swatting at his arm as he nudged her with a wink.

"That wasn't nice," she laughed, leaning against a tree as she watched him.

He closed the distance between them and leaned into her, sliding his hands under her shirt with a chuckle. She once again swatted at him, but weakly this time, biting her lip on a chuckle. Her laughter died when his hands moved up to her breasts and his mouth settled on her neck.

"Is this nice enough for you?" he whispered, nipping lightly at her flesh, wanting to sink his teeth into her. She tasted like flesh, felt like flesh, but she just wasn't made of flesh. It was synthetic something or other, and he had no desire to take off a chunk of it.

She tipped her head back, giving him better access. Her hands gripped his hair, holding him to her. "That's very nice," she whispered back. Her moan echoed in the quiet night, broken only by his heavy breathing. Why did she do that to him all the time? Make him breathe when he didn't need to?

He lifted her black blouse, baring her pale stomach and red bra to his hungry gaze. Trailing small kisses down her neck, he raised his head briefly, long enough to move past her bunched-up blouse and settle his mouth on the swell of her left breast.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, her chest arching closer to his mouth. One hand slid down to take its place in the same spot it'd been in earlier.

He sucked in a breath, giving her easier access to the waistband of his jeans, allowing her hand to slip down and cup him. Pulling away from her breast, he raised his head to her mouth, licking her lower lip as she stroked him. She opened her heavy-lidded eyes, smiling at him with love.

"I think I'm learning to love you," he mumbled, shaking his head thoughtfully as he gazed at her.

"More, you mean," she told him, curling her fingers around his erection.

"More," he agreed, kissing her softly.

A tingling feeling passed over his spine, and he halted her hand, darting his eyes around the surrounding darkness. Sliding her hand from his pants, not an easy feat, he leaned down and whispered for her to stay there while he had a look around.

"Uh, I don't think so," she disagreed, straightening her shirt and following closely behind him.

He crept quietly toward the left, where the feeling was even stronger, and concentrated on what it was he felt. Willow's hands gripped his shirt in the back as she peered over his shoulder.

A second later, he realized it wasn't a vampire he felt nearby, but Buffy. Heading in his direction. Bloody hell. He turned around, gripping Willow's arms tightly. "Go. Now," he told her, "get in the crypt, go below, and wait for me."

She frowned, looking about ready to argue with him, but he shoved her from him, not giving her the chance to do so. "Be careful," she whispered, walking quickly back in the direction of the crypt.

She wasn't completely out of sight before Buffy stepped in front of a tree, glaring at him. He darted his eyes in Willow's direction, hoping Buffy hadn't seen her. Her red hair was distinctive, as was her body and her movements... or was that only something he'd noticed that well?

"Spike," Buffy stated, pulling a stake from her jacket as she moved closer. "Just the person I wanted to see. Who was that?" She didn't even bother looking in the direction Willow had gone in. Circling around him in a wide arc, she wove her way through headstones.

"A friend," he answered carefully. He relaxed his posture, knowing the first thing to give him away would be his nervousness. She always knew when he was lying, and this time the stakes were too high to get caught. "A witch," he added, probably not wisely. "Beginning witch," he corrected, going through the ritual of searching out his cigarettes and lighting one.

"Got a sudden fondness for witches, don't you?" she pondered, tilting her head to the side as she studied him.

His eyes darted her way, wondering if she did know. "How's that?" Soothing smoke flooded into his lungs as he took a deep drag off his cigarette.

She shrugged, staring the way Willow had gone, her eyes narrowing. "A beginning witch... shouldn't you make sure she gets home okay?" She stalked closer, tapping her stake against her leg as she approached. "The Wickaninnish is still in town."

"Actually," he said, grabbing that excuse as a means of getting away from Buffy, "I probably should. She's--"

"Great," Buffy agreed, "let's go. I'd love to meet this 'friend' of yours." She started in the direction of his crypt, not looking back to see if he was following her.

Of course he was. Nipping at her damn heels like a puppy dog. He dropped his cigarette to the grass, hurrying after Buffy's retreating figure. Her hair bounced in its ponytail, her short muscular legs striding across the distance, eating it up faster than he liked.

"She's not one for company, you know?" he muttered, striding a little faster than Buffy in order to-- what? Hold the Slayer back while his robot hid under his crypt? "Not a big Slayer fan, and all that rot, like you and your fan group."

Maybe if he got there first, he could signal Willow to leave, or... something.

Buffy shrugged, again. Unconcerned. Was she ever concerned about anything other than her tight little group of friends. Friends that hung off her every word and worshiped the ground she walked on. He could understand her; he knew what she was like. He was the same way. Liked the adulation, the caring, the needing. And her friends did need her.

Like a tall man filled with the richest blood in the world. Or, in her case, maybe a tall glass of cold water. The analogy fit either way. And either way, this wasn't going to end well.

Desperate measures and all that.

He grabbed her arm, halting her frantic pace towards his crypt. "What do you want? Why are you here?" He wanted answers and, by god, he would get them.

She stopped, yanking her arm free of his touch, even going so far as to stare at the spot he'd deigned to touch her in. Her eyes, filled with a fury he didn't understand, raised to his. "You're going patrolling with me." It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.

"Yeah, sorry, not feeling up to it at the moment," he said bravely, shrugging a shoulder in a display of disinterest. "Got things to do... witches to-- help."

Her eyes narrowed even further, her mouth tightening into a thin line of anger. "Witches..." she said thoughtfully, slapping her stake even harder against her thigh.

She didn't watch it, she'd be taking out chunks of her thigh before long. "Yeah. My witchy friend there." He motioned toward his crypt, standing in the distance with Willow waiting inside of it. Hopefully hiding like he'd told her. "She needs..." he stopped and thought about it for a second, tilting his head to the side before chuckling. "Well, she needs me."

Buffy moved in a blur, shoving him to the ground with a leg behind his and landing smack dab on top of him. Her stake was poised above his heart, waiting to take that final plunge into his chest. Her eyes were wide, her nostrils flared. She was loving this. She wanted to kill him; with every fiber of her being, she was fighting the urge to sink her stake into his chest and end his life. Without a thought.

He looked down at the stake, then back up at her, smirking a little. "See now. I always knew you wanted me--"

"Dead," she panted furiously, shoving the stake into his flesh half an inch, smirking at his groan of pain. "I always wanted you dead, Spike." She shoved even harder, pressing in a good inch, her hand shaking with the force of holding back. "You hurt her, and I swear to God and anyone else who's listening that I will gut you an organ at a time. Days apart. Pain will be a distant memory to what you'll be feeling, which will be so far beyond that, that you'll--"

"Oh, for god's sake," he bit out, smacking her hand away from his chest. The stake dropped to the ground with a quiet thunk, but neither one looked at it. They were too busy staring at each other. "Kill me, or get the hell off of me." He raised his hips up, still hard from his earlier play with Willow, and despite himself, harder because of Buffy.

The force she used, the way she was straddling his hips, plunking herself right on his erection, and the pain from her attempted threats of staking, all of it served to turn him on even more.

He was a man. That was his only excuse. And a vampire to boot, so this was all serving to make him way more excited than he should be.

She twisted her face up in disgust and punched him. His head was still moving from the force of the punch when he felt her climb off of him. He pushed himself into a partial sitting position, leaning casually back on his elbows as he observed her. A single eyebrow raised at her, a smirk curling his lips.

She was standing a few feet away, hands fisted at her sides, her body poised for flight. At him, he knew, not to run away. She really did want to kill him.

She pointed at him threateningly, warning him not to move from that spot. "You disgust me. You're a-- a thing. And if you think I'll let you anywhere near her, you're sorely mistaken." She stalked closer, reaching down to grab her stake from its spot at his feet and sprang right back up again. "Humans are off-limits to you, Spike. Forever." She snickered at him, laughing derisively. "In more ways than one."

He watched her turn around and start off in the opposite direction of his crypt, wondering what in bloody hell had just happened.

Not bothering to stick around and find out, he jumped to his feet and ran the rest of the way to his crypt. Shoving the door open, he stopped in the doorway, looking for Willow. She was nowhere in sight and he smiled in satisfaction. At least one person cared enough to listen to him. To pay him some attention.

He shut the door, calling out for Willow to come back up.

"I-- I didn't go down there, Spike," Willow mumbled nervously, raising up from behind the end of the sarcophagus. "I'm sorry..." she started to say, but then her eyes widened and she skirted around the coffin, heading toward him. "Are you okay? What happened?" She stopped in front of him, raising her hand to his chest. "You're bleeding."

He looked down at his chest, fighting his anger at her for disobeying him, and saw the blood on his t-shirt. "I'm fine, ran into one of your little friends." He grabbed her arm, tightening it a little more than he'd intended, causing her to yelp in pain. Like she even felt pain. "Why didn't you go downstairs?" he bit out.

His ego had been tossed by the wayside by Buffy, the Vampire's Bitch, and he was raring for a fight now that he knew Willow was safe.

"I was hiding," she told him, yanking her arm from him angrily. She raised his shirt, wincing at the small wound there. More like a scratch in his eyes, apparently a major deal in hers. "I was safe there. Who did this to you?" Her voice held a lot of anger that wasn't directed at him and her eyes were narrowed, her mouth snapping shut with a clack of teeth.

It'd be better not to tell her the truth. If he did, she looked like she'd be paying a visit to Buffy with words and possibly a good poking in the chest. He snickered a little as he pulled his bloody shirt off. "No one, love. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" she echoed, clenching her hands by her sides.

He half expected her eyes to turn black and her hair to start blowing in a non-existent wind kicked up by her magick. But this was Willow the robot, not the real thing. She couldn't do magick most likely. He hoped.

He fisted his shirt into a ball and wiped the blood from his chest, and then threw the shirt on top of the sarcophagus. "Yeah," he repeated, taking her arms and staring into her eyes, making sure she paid attention to him this time. And obeyed him. "Don't worry about it."

When she reluctantly nodded, he dropped into his chair, stewing over the night's events. Highs and lows, ups and downs... perfect night. Fit his life to a T.

Willow sighed and turned the TV on, sitting in front of it. She was pouting again. Sure did that a lot. More than the real one. Realizing he actually didn't know that for a fact, he wondered how much else he didn't know.

He closed his eyes as the sounds of a commercial jingle echoed throughout the crypt. Dropping his head back with a sigh, he crossed his hands over his stomach and relaxed, trying to forget how easily Buffy had taken him down. How quickly she was able to get his goat.

To piss him off so bloody royally that he couldn't relax!

Damn it. Sitting forward, he trained his eyes on Willow, watching her smile and laugh at the stupid sitcom assaulting his ears. She was everything he wanted all wrapped up in a neat little Willow package.

Laughter and beauty, loyalty and fierceness. She was his. His lover, his girl, his witch, his... equal. There was darkness to her, and now they were all aware of it. But instead of it scaring him away, it actually made him want her more. Made him respect and admire her.

When she killed Ben, he'd watched her come alive for the first time he could ever remember. So radiant and shining was that darkness in her. It enveloped her, took her over, and he liked that.

But he also liked the goodness in her. She was trustful and truthful. She didn't lie to get her way, didn't cheat and steal and then turn around and claim it was for the best. She just... was.

After a few more minutes of watching her, he felt his body responding to her. The way she moved when she laughed, the way her hair swayed back and forth when she swung her legs around and sat cross-legged, staring intently at the tv.

He wanted her. And he was still feeling the blow to his ego that Buffy had dealt him. He wanted Willow. Now. But he wanted something else too.

Compliance.

He waited until the show she was watching was over, then spoke up over it. "Turn that off."

She leaned forward, turning it down before looking over her shoulder at him. "But, I wanted to watch the next show," she said excitedly, like a kid given free rein in a toy or a candy store. "It's about a--"

"Turn it off," he repeated, his eyes unblinking at he stared at her. "And then you can undress." He motioned to a spot a few feet away from the TV set, a nice good spot for him to see her completely. "Right there."

She smiled wider, clicking off the TV and standing happily, in her element now. Sex, that's all she seemed to be about. Though occasionally, there was more. At the moment, she seemed to sense that he needed more. She frowned at him as she stood in the spot he'd indicated and looked a little nervous.

"Spike?" She bit her lip, raising her arms to her abdomen, covering the flesh from his eyes. "What's wrong? Why do I have to--"

"Do it," he ordered, watching her raise the blouse slowly over her head and stand in her lacy red bra. There was no way to see her standing there and not be affected by her. His body hardened even more as she shifted nervously, looking at him under her eyelashes. Playing the little tease. "More."

She reached behind her to unhook her bra, but he shook his head.

"Leave that. Take off the pants." He leaned down and unlaced his boots, kicking them off one at a time and shoving them out of the way.

She untied her tennis shoes and kicked them off, setting them neatly aside. He smiled at her fastidiousness, knowing she was doing it on purpose, teasing him.

He raised his hands to the buckle of his belt at the same time as she did, and unbuttoned his pants along with her. One button at a time he watched her expose herself to him, and he did the same.

Her eyes fixed on his lap, watching and waiting for him to reveal his erection to her gaze, but he stopped just shy of letting her get what she wanted.

She drew in a deep breath, exhaling in disappointment. Shoving her jeans down her hips, she bent over and pulled them off, one leg at a time. She folded them up and set them on top of her shoes. Her socks were pulled off and dropped to the jeans.

He nodded in satisfaction, taking in every inch of her bare body. Red suited her, beautifully showcasing her smooth, pale skin. She was firm and toned, but not tanned. Her teeth nipped her bottom lip again, making him moan softly as he imagined her lips on his aching erection.

He raised his arm, gesturing for her to come closer. She swallowed, still playing the nervous little virgin. Made him feel all manly. Her steps were small, her legs long, and after only ten steps she was in front of him, standing there with her arms once again crossed over her stomach.

That wasn't where his eyes were anyway. The swell of her breasts, pushed higher thanks to her bra, were enticing, begging him to touch them. He reached out and touched her thigh with his right hand, running it slowly up her leg.

She started to breathe a little heavier and lean toward him, but he kept her at a distance. Hooking his finger in the side of her panties, he pulled the material away and let go. "Take 'em off, Willow."

"Okay." Stepping back, she darted nervous eyes in his direction, silently watching him watch her as she hooked her own fingers in the thin red material. The lace, which made patterns of swirls in the spot he most wanted to see, slipped easily down her thighs and to the floor. She stepped free of them, pushing them away with her toes. "Can I touch you?" she asked, moving back into position in front of him.

He chuckled, standing up straight, an inch from where she stood. Without touching her, he stripped his jeans off. As he stood up straight again, there was only one part of him touching her, and it was the part they both wanted so much to touch her.

Her eyes dropped to his very prominent erection as he dropped back into the chair and settled his arms on the chair arms. "You can touch me," he told her, "but not with your hands. Why don't you have a seat, love?"

She smiled, licking her lips in expectation. "Okay, Spike. I like this game." She knelt on the seat beside one of his legs, and hooked the other over him. Placing her hands on the chair arms, careful not to touch him, she lifted herself up and moved closer, raising up over him, touching just the head of him with her wet heat.

They both gasped in pleasure, him arching up, her sliding down. Together, they seated her on top of him. She fell forward, leaning against him, pressing her breasts against his chest and kissed him. "Are lips okay?" she whispered, sliding her arms beneath his own, gripping the chair arm. "I like tasting you. You're manly tasting, and you smell good too."

Spike nodded, taking her lips with his own, pushing her back a little with the force of the kiss, clenching his fingers into the fabric of the chair, resisting the urge to grab her and run his hands over every inch of her body.

Her muscles clenched around him, giving him the tightness he craved, but not the friction. "Up," he muttered, occupying his mouth with her neck, dipping his head lower to lick the swell of her breast.

She lifted herself using her arms on the chair and her legs, sliding slowly along his entire length, stopping only when he thought she'd leave him completely. "Up," she echoed, holding herself poised above him.

He chuckled, sliding his tongue under her bra to tease her nipple. Thrusting high, using his own arms on the chair, he gasped at the feel of her hot body clenching and sliding around him. "Bloody hell, you feel good," he told her, thrusting back out, and then up again. "You have no idea..." he grunted, thrusting again, "how good you... oh, god, how good you feel."

He was close, even now, and the blame for that was all laid at Buffy's feet. She'd pissed him off, made him feel weak and useless. This was Willow he was using, not Buffy, and he didn't want it to be Buffy, but he did want to show her. While he was thrusting inside of Willow, giving her just as much pleasure as he was receiving, he was sticking it to Buffy.

"You feel good too, Spike. I want to touch you." She tried to free her hands from beneath his arms, but he pressed down on them.

"No," he ordered, holding her arms still. "You're touching me enough. Where it counts." He dropped his eyes, hoping like hell he meant on his body and not his heart. Unfortunately, he was pretty positive he meant his heart.

And she thought so too.

Her eyes softened, her smile loving. "I love you too, Spike."

He was so damn close now, he was thrusting into her with abandon, feeling her clench around him tightly, but he wanted a little more. "Bite me," he told her, his eyes pleading with hers.

She didn't protest this time, just dipped her head down and licked his chest, licking at the blood from the stake wound. As his hips jerked up on the edge of orgasm, she bit into his shoulder, sucking at the blood that slowly seeped from the wound.

Spike thrust into one more time and came with a groan. His hips continued to jerk, moving him inside of her, deeper and deeper, pressing higher until she came. Her teeth clenched tighter on him, her mouth sucking at the blood, drawing out the little he had to spare.

"I love you," she whispered, collapsing on him, tearing her mouth from the wound she'd made. He raised his hands, cradling her to him, holding her close, needing the feel of her hair and her skin under his hands.

He was tempted to say the words, to confirm what she thought, but he couldn't, not yet. He was headed that way though. This was not about sex anymore. This was about Willow and his feelings for her. Big feelings.

He could only hope the real Willow felt something close to what he felt for her. Sliding one hand down her hair and the other down her back, he breathed with her, lifting his chest up and down in time with her breathing, falling asleep with her in his lap and him inside her body.


	14. Chapter 14

Spike's foot slipped for the fourth time as he walked along the roof of the Summers' house, rounding the corner to the back, heading for Willow's room. He was still pissed from last night's run in with Buffy, and maybe it wasn't the best thing to come traipsing across her roof at odd hours of the night, but he wanted to see Willow.

He'd waited one day, an entire twenty-four hours, before coming to see her again, but now he was wondering about the wisdom of his choice to come in the back way. Running into Buffy or Dawn wasn't on his list of things to do tonight, so rooftops and windows it was.

He just hoped Willow would let him in.

The gravel on the shingles was slippery as hell under his boots, making his route a tricky one. The moon was high, unnecessarily lighting his way, covering the entire house and backyard in a yellow glow. Windows lined the whole of the back, and Willow's was just ahead of him.

He could see light shining through the cracks in the heavy flowery curtains hanging there.

He felt Willow's heartbeat, and concentrated on its steady beat as he knelt before her window. Would she call Buffy immediately? Was Buffy even there? He heard three heartbeats in the house, but they could be anyone.

Would Willow open the window and allow him into her room without a second thought? Or maybe she'd already had second thoughts and would turn him away.

The agony of not knowing was killing him... again.

It'd been a day since his run-in with Buffy, a day since he'd stormed out of the house and sulked in his crypt for a few hours, ignoring his poor Willowbot.

There'd been the thought of killing someone as soon as he remembered he could, and he'd gone out, hunting like he used to do. Killing like he used to do.

He'd found a man in a bar on the docks, and followed him and his date to an empty warehouse. The man hadn't tried to rape the girl like Spike thought he would. They'd had sex while Spike watched, gotten themselves off while Spike waited to kill them. After all the wasted time and energy of forcing himself not to attack them and simply feed off their frightened little selves, he'd waited, ignoring their groans and moans of pleasure.

As soon as they were done, while the man zipped up his pants, Spike attacked. He beat the man to the ground, listening to the screaming as long as he could before knocking him out. The woman, cowering in a corner, her shirt half off, her mini skirt still hiked up about her waist, and her hair and make-up in disarray... well, he let her go. Let her go and killed the man.

He'd lied to Willow, the robot version of her anyway, told her the man had tried to rape the girl, and he'd saved her. Let her go free while he killed the man.

She'd believed him without a second thought, and that made him feel guilty. He'd tried. Was it his fault the man hadn't been as bad as Spike thought he was?

Next time he went out and fed, he'd try to eat only bad people.

"Pansy."

The real Willow didn't know that he could kill again, and he intended to keep it that way for a while. As long as he could, in fact. The bot insisted he eat only bad people. That's what she called them. Bad people. They were food to him, nothing more.

"Enough of this," he muttered, lifting his hand and rapping on the window with his knuckle. He heard Willow's heart speed up, but she didn't rush out of the room screaming for Buffy. She neared the window slowly. He could feel her as she approached, see her through the crack in the curtains.

She was dressed in something white and see-through, with her back to the lamp in the room. He got a glimpse of her stomach, tight and firm, and one thigh, toned with muscles, as she stopped in front of the curtain.

She tilted her head a little to see out the crack in the curtains, her eyes widening when she saw him kneeling there. She threw the curtains open and started to unlock the window. Her hand froze on the lock, her eyes narrowing a little in fear.

"What are you--" she began, her voice muffled through the glass. She looked over her shoulder and lowered her voice, stepping closer to the window as she faced him again. "What are you doing here?"

Spike considered his answer as he looked his fill of her. Her white, see-through nightgown was short, only coming to mid-thigh. The thin spaghetti straps hid nothing of her freckled shoulders, and the low bodice did nothing more than emphasize her chest.

"Nice bit of fluff you got there," he said after clearing his throat quietly. His eyes stayed fixed on the bodice for a second before raising them to her eyes. "Waiting for someone special?"

"Tara bought it for me." She glanced over her shoulder again, lowering her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Again I ask: What are you doing here?"

Her breasts rose even higher, fueling his desire even further. The lust burned a path through him as he took in every bare inch of her legs and arms. Her eyebrows rose, waiting for him to answer her question, but he decided to answer with one of his own. "You always answer knocks on your window in the middle of the night dressed in a slip of nothing?"

Willow sighed. "Yes, Spike, I do. You see," she leaned closer, looking around to make sure no one was listening but him, "I'm an exhibitionist." She straightened up again, rolling her eyes. "I thought you knew that."

"How about you let me in and I look at you to your heart's content?" he asked softly, his eyes boring into hers with a height of awareness he hadn't felt since Drusilla. This was different though, he felt this pull toward Willow that he'd never felt toward Drusilla until after he'd been turned. "I can even add touching to that scenario," he said calmly, though his body felt anything but calm. He was on fire for her, just from seeing her again.

He was lost.

She dropped her defensive pose and bit her lip, unsure of herself. Finally, she closed her eyes with a brief sigh and then opened them, unlocking the window with a flick of her fingers. She opened the window, stepping back hastily.

"You have to be quiet," she said in a near whisper. "Dawn and Xander are downstairs playing a game or watching TV or something."

Spike stepped over the sill and into Willow's private domain. He stood there looking around for a second, taking it all in. The room smelled even more strongly of her tonight, and there was hardly a trace left of Joyce's scent. She had a damp towel hanging on the door to the bathroom, her shoes were on the floor at the end of the bed, and a few items of clothing were strewn around the room. A shirt on the back of a chair here, a pair of jeans on the floor there. She was neat, but in a cluttered way.

His eyes fell on her as she went to the door and shut it quietly, grimacing when she moved too quickly. He looked around the room, knowing it was there. He spotted the dread-smelling salve on the small make-up table across from the door. Slipping off his duster, he strode over to it and picked it up.

"Lie down," he told her, his eyes promising relief from the pain, and maybe a little more. Dropping the duster to the chair back, he watched her and waited. A step closer and she was backing up toward the bed.

"Um, you know, whenever that stuff comes out... things get--" she shrugged, at a loss. Or maybe it was because she was staring into his eyes and she saw the want and need for her there. "Sort of... uh, well, heated."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers as he moved closer. "... and?" He was only a few feet away now.

The backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed, stopping her in her tracks. She turned around and glared at the bed, like it was at fault. When she faced him again, the glare was gone, but the nervousness was still in place. "And," she repeated in confusion, having lost track of the conversation. She looked around, searching for the subject, darting her eyes around before finding it again. "Oh, and," she stressed, holding her hand out in front of her as if the answer was so bloody obvious even an idiot could see it, "and... we shouldn't."

She nodded in confirmation of her words, smiling at having solved their little dilemma.

Spike chuckled, tilting his head to the side, studying her intently. "I think we should."

"Oh, do you?" she tossed back. Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, and he knew she wanted him. Even if she hadn't practically squeaked out her response.

"Yes," he answered with confidence. "I do." He closed the distance between them, tossing the jar on the bed behind her. He felt her heat radiating off of her, seeping into his skin and clothes, warming him with her body. Her skin was so close to his own, her lips almost touching his, but he didn't let them come into contact yet.

He'd learned last night that it was a fun game to play.

He looked up at her with just his eyes. "And I think you think we should, too." He groaned inwardly at the convoluted sentence, hoping she hadn't noticed.

She swallowed, her eyes dropping briefly to his lips, her breath becoming more ragged than before. He watched her chest rise until it almost touched his, then fall again as she exhaled with a shake of her head. "No."

His heart sank. Had he read her that wrong? She did want him, he knew she did. No matter how much she denied it, he knew she--

"I don't think we should." She looked up, the frown on her brow creasing even more when she sighed. "But I want to."

He smiled a little in relief, happy he hadn't made a fool of himself. She wanted him, and even though she didn't think it was the right thing to do, he was pretty sure he could make it happen anyway. "Then you will."

She shook her head again. "I can't. Spike, things are just too... weird right now. I can't just hop into bed with you."

Chuckling in satisfaction, he trailed one hand along her arm, not quite touching her skin, leaving her flesh tingling in his wake until he reached her shoulder. "Yes, you can."

She looked tempted, but also determined. "Okay, semantics not really needing to be argued right now. Let me just clear this up for you. I'm not going to," she said sternly.

His fingers slipped very quickly under the thin strap of her nightgown, dropping it to her arm. The cloth sagged a little, giving him a nice view of the top of one breast and the side of the other. "Yes, you are."

"Um, hello, Mr. Cocky," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest, blocking her breasts from his view as she tried to move his attention back to her face. She bent down, ducking her head to the height of her breasts. "Up here."

He glanced her way with a chuckle before going back to the sight of her breasts. "Yes?"

"I'm up here, Spike." She reached out a hand, lifting his head up with her fingers beneath his jaw. "And, I'm not having sex with you. Tonight," she added softly, but it was loud enough for him to hear.

"Yes, you are. Because..." he dropped his eyes to her freckled chest again.

She rolled her eyes at his continued preoccupation with her chest. "Because...?"

Instead of answering her question, a question he had no idea about, or what he'd been about to say, he slid a finger down the front of her nightgown, between her breasts. "I like this gown." He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, his lips barely touching her flesh. Moving his lips to her ear, he whispered just loud enough for her to hear him. "Makes you look all innocent and sweet. And naughty."

"Spike," she started to say, her voice croaking out pathetically. She cleared her throat, ignoring his chuckle, and continued trying to convince him he was delusional. "Stop it. It's not going to happen." A breath left her, a short one that was quickly taken back again. Her chest rose and fell faster than before.

He raised his eyes to hers, enjoying the effect he was having on her. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her other shoulder, sighing out a breath, watching her skin react to him. "Touch me," he whispered, flicking his tongue out to lick her skin, to taste that flavor that was all Willow.

She shivered under him, panting once or twice before holding her breath in, trying to get a hold on herself, but it was a battle she quickly lost. She exhaled and shifted closer to him, raising a hand to his waist, hooking her thumb through one of the belt loops on his jeans. "Just a little," she conceded. "That can't hurt."

Bingo. He had her now.

He slid a hand along the curve of her right arm, not touching the skin just like before. His fingers slipped under the strap, lifting it free of her shoulder and letting go, watching it fall like the other. Her breasts were half-exposed now through the gaping bodice of her nightgown. He placed another kiss on her shoulder. "So sweet and pure."

Her other hand joined the first, hooking in a belt loop on the other side of his waist, drawing him closer. She dropped her head down on his chest, breathing deeply. "I'm not pure," she mumbled into his chest, the feel of her damp breath against his skin and shirt making him hard.

"You are to me," he told her, brushing her hair out of the way to get a better view of her back. He trailed the fingers of his right hand down her left shoulder blade, raising goose bumps along the way. "Does it hurt?"

She nodded, sliding her arms around his waist. "Yes," she admitted. A few breaths later, she turned her head to the side, resting her cheek against his chest. "But I don't want you to go," she whispered.

Spike smiled, satisfaction coursing through him. She wanted him. He pulled away, just enough to lift her head with his fingers and take her mouth. Being needed had its own special appeal to him. His lips crushed hers, moving with an urgency he could feel in her as well, but... first things first.

She had some salve application coming to her, and damn if he hadn't waited long enough to give it to her.

"Lie down," he repeated, reaching around her to grab the jar from the bed.

She looked behind her at the unkempt bed with its rumpled sheets and blankets, then to the door. He was afraid she was considering fleeing the room, but she didn't. "I should lock that." Her voice was deep and husky, filled with lust.

"I'll get it," he told her, his own voice filled with just as much desire as her own. He strode over to the door, turning the lock with a click, and even checking to make sure it was closed all the way. "Strip--" he turned back to her to see her already removing her clothes.

She spun around, holding the gown to her chest, hiding most of her body from him. "Uh, c-- could you turn around?" she asked frantically, looking ready to dive under the covers.

He shrugged, turning to face the vanity table against the opposite wall from the bed. She took a deep breath behind him and he heard the cloth drop to the floor. Her naked image came into view of the mirror, displaying every inch of her body for him.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes ran down her chest, and the perfect mounds of flesh there, down to her flat, muscular abdomen, white and pale as a vampire's skin. She glanced at him quickly before she stripped off her panties, letting him see the bit of red at the juncture of her thighs, telling him the real story behind her hair color. Her legs though, they were what held most of his attention. He could just imagine those pale, muscular legs wrapped around him as he thrust inside of her warm, moist body.

He groaned, dropping his head back as she turned away and climbed into bed, rolling onto her stomach and covering herself up. "Okay," she called, her eyes finding his in the mirror, even though she couldn't see him in it. She adjusted her pillow underneath her cheek, smiling shamefacedly. "Salve application away."

He tossed the jar into the air and caught it as he stood there staring at her back. Still so beautiful. He started toward the bed, eager to get to it, but realized he was overdressed when he felt the restriction of his pants.

Setting the jar down on the vanity, he untied his boots, keeping his eyes on her.

"Spike," she protested, the words not coming easily to her. "I'm not sleeping with you. The clothes stay on." She started to turn her head, but a small head shake from him had her staying still.

"Just getting more comfortable, love." He kicked off his boots, leaving them where they fell. "Don't want my boots dirtying up the bed, do you?"

She sighed, knowing exactly what he was doing, but remained silent, even when he raised his hands to his belt buckle. The jangling of the buckle was loud in the silence of the room, broken only by her snort. "I suppose I don't want your spotless jeans dirtying up my bed either?" she asked sarcastically, not buying his innocent routine for a minute, but also pretending she wasn't waiting breathlessly to see him.

"No," he admitted with a chuckle. "I don't want to dirty up my spotless jeans." He winked at her, laughing in delight as a nice pink blush stole its way up her neck and face.

He loved her response to him. Humans had some things over vampires, and this was one of them. Dropping his head to his task, he kept his eyes on her, watching her irises dilate as he lowered the zipper, hearing her heart speed up as he undid the button. Her breathing grew more shallow, her body heating up enough for him to notice this far away.

Instead of giving her what she wanted, revealing what she was dying to see, he reached behind him and grabbed the back of his t-shirt, yanking it up and over his head.

She actually sighed when his chest was revealed to her. Without conscious thought, he puffed out his chest, basking in her approval.

He was sometimes a proud man, and this time it was going to cost him. She sat up, keeping herself fully covered by the sheet, and stared at his chest, but not because she liked what she saw anymore, this was something different. Just as she opened her mouth to ask him a question, he glanced down, seeing the very visible bite mark there, as well as the stake wound.

Instead of asking the questions on the tip of her tongue, she just continued to stare, waiting for an explanation. After a few seconds of silence, she grew impatient.

"Did Buffy do that?" Her voice was hard, her eyes narrowing angrily. "Did she-- did she try to dust you?"

So Willow knew something about last night's confusing visit from the Slayer. "We had a bit of a tiff," he said lightly, not wanting to get into it too deeply right now.

She was the only thing he wanted to get deeply into at the moment. Call him a one-track-minded fool, but that's all he cared about at this point in time. That, and getting her mind off of the bite mark as soon as possible.

"Wasn't that big of a thing," he said dismissively.

She nodded, letting it slide for now, but he could also see a fair amount of anger moving beneath the surface. She was pissed, and rightly so to his thinking. You go, baby, stick up for your man.

He turned away with a slight snicker, hoping to bypass any comments on the bite mark, but of course she didn't let him off that easily.

"Did she... bite you?" Willow asked in disbelief. She sat forward, trying to peer more closely at the mark when he turned back to face her.

He shook his head, rubbing his fingers across the mark. "Uh, no." That was all he said, leaving her to wonder about it. Hopefully she wouldn't wonder too much.

"Who did then? That's-- Spike." She raised her eyes to his, sitting straighter in the bed, sheets pooled around her, her naked body calling to him, her eyes daring him to come any closer. "That's a human bite."

"Yeah," he agreed, still rubbing his fingers over it, wanting to tell her she did it. That she'd bitten him as he came, as he made her come, but he stayed silent. She wouldn't understand.

Understatement of the year.

"Or did yet another Lairman demon try to take your crypt?" Oddly enough, she sounded skeptical and looked it to boot.

"No," he denied, remembering his excuse from the other night. Damn, he'd forgotten about that altogether. Bloody f'in hell. "Wasn't a Lairman this time."

"Then why did a... human..." she frowned and then her eyes went wide, landing on his face with accusation. "I thought you said you weren't with her anymore. You told me--" she held the sheet more firmly to her chest and struggled to get out of the bed without hurting herself. "God, Buffy was right."

"About what?" he asked, dropping to the bed and reaching for the sheet as she stood up. He yanked on it, pulling her back to the bed. She bounced a few times, keeping her back to him, giving him a nice view to look at, but not letting him see what he needed to see. "What'd Buffy say, Willow?"

Willow kept her back to him, but turned her head towards him, her face blank, her eyes flat and emotionless. "That you were using me, and look, all true." She pulled the sheet free of his hold, yanking hard enough to throw herself forward with the force of it. "Ouch," she ground out, clenching her jaw. "Go home, Spike, go be with... whoever she is."

Spike ignored her suggestion; to him that's all it was. Not the order she'd made it out to be. Could be he was sometimes delusional as well as proud. "You told Buffy about us?" he asked in surprise. After all her protesting the night before, she'd actually told Buffy?

Well, that was unexpected.

"Yes." She stood up, sweeping the sheet far out of his reach as she did so, wrapping it firmly around her a few times. She strode across the room, also keeping herself far out of his reach.

He stood up as well, following her across the room. "So that's what she was on about last night," he said absently. "Warning me away from you and all that rot... I thought she was talking about the other-- uh, my friend." Almost gave himself away there, wouldn't that have been fun? "Well, she's got some nerve, hasn't she?" He frowned deeply, wondering if he could kill Buffy without angering Willow. Eh, probably not.

Willow was looking at him like he was insane. "Uh, Spike," she said clearly, succinctly, "I'm mad at you, not her, and I'm not about to gang up on her with you."

Her words finally caught his complete attention and he dragged his mind away from thoughts of burying Buffy in his crypt somewhere, after he killed her, of course. Slowly, just like she'd promised him, over nice, long, hot summer days, sweltering heat, nasty humidity, making her as miserable as she could get while he was torturing her.

But that was just fantasy, he'd never actually... well, not as of yet. Maybe someday in the future when he didn't still feel... something for her. "What?"

"Go home," she said in defeat, turning her back to him. "Just... go." She sighed heavily and he was pretty sure her breath hitched in a little. She was on the verge of tears.

"She's a friend, Willow, that's all," he assured her, moving directly behind her to smooth a hand down her bare back. The sheet draped artfully down her colorful back, leaving it partially bare, gathering in an excess of cloth at her lower back, just above the rise of her sweet little behind.

Dragging his eyes up, away from parts that made him want to throw her down and have at it, he wondered if the truth would serve him in good stead at this point.

Seeing her stiff back, and remembering the sadness in her eyes when Buffy told her about April's rundown demise, he decided against the truth for now.

"Doesn't matter." She started to move away from him, to leave him standing alone without her heat and her strength, to leave him forever, but he reached out and grabbed her left arm, halting her progress.

"It does matter. She's a friend," he stressed, "nothing more." He turned her toward him, lifting her face up so that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, on his lips... lips that were spouting lies that she was starting to buy. "Nothing more, and nothing less." He chuckled, shrugging a little. "I'm right fond of the bird, but not like I am of you, Willow."

Her eyes lost a little of the frostiness, her face taking on a little life as she bought every lie he tossed out there. So he decided a little truth was needed as well.

"She pales in comparison to you." The lying was giving him time, but the truth is what reeled her right back in to him. He felt a little disgusted with himself, but he couldn't stand it if he lost her.

She dropped her eyes to his chest, lifting a hand to touch hesitantly at the bite, running her fingers over the mark with a frown. "Did she do this?"

And now it was time to lie again. He shivered at the touch of her fingers, raising his own hand to halt hers. "No," he denied, shaking his head, his eyes holding more sincerity than before. He had to pile it on thick. "No, she didn't. It was a vampire."

Her eyes widened at the lie, not buying it anymore. She dropped her hand, stepping back, away from him. "Yeah, right. Nice try."

He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth, showing her his human teeth. "We do have normal teeth too, you know. He was a vampire, but he wasn't a very bright vampire."

She frowned at him, sighing, not sure if she should believe him or not. In her eyes, he could see that she wanted to, she wanted to think he'd tell her the truth, that he wouldn't lie like the rug he was being, but she was weary, tired of the whole conversation, and maybe him. "Why would he do that?"

"Because I was trying to kill him?" he guessed, shrugging widely, making big movements to cover his weak story. "He was a fledgling, didn't have control over it, I guess." Taking her arm, he walked her back over to the bed, setting her down comfortably. "I'll go," he bluffed, "you get some rest."

He picked his shirt up from the floor and slipped it on over his head, reaching down to grab his boots and turn away slowly, heading toward the window, hoping she stopped him before he got there.

She did.

"No, it's okay," she called quickly, halting him just before he reached the window. "I believe you, against my better judgment, and probably against common sense, because, hello, vampire. Evil... but-- that's not your fault." She chuckled, shaking her head at herself. "So... you can stay." Her eyes raised threateningly to his as he turned back around to face her. "If I regret this, at all, ever, I'll sic Dawn on you."

Spike snorted with laughter, covering up his relief. "Anything but that," he joked softly, dropping his boots to the floor and joining her by the bed again. His little dead heart fluttered in response to the smile that spread across her face, lifting the weights from his shoulders with a smile, and the soothing gaze of her eyes.

And then he knew. He was falling in love with Willow. Deeply, and thoroughly, the most precious kind of love. And also the worst.


	15. Chapter 15

Spike sat on the bed with a groan, trying to hide his sudden stunned realization from Willow. She didn't need to know how far gone he was. Not now.

There'd be plenty of time for that later.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, hating the un-beating piece of muscle in his chest, constantly getting him into one heartbreaking situation after another. His life was filled with pain caused by the fact that he couldn't seem to stop himself from caring so bloody much for people.

Cecily, his mother, Dru... Buffy. And now Willow. Would it ever stop? More importantly, would he ever find someone willing to care for him just as much as he cared for them?

"So..." Willow said awkwardly, not noticing his sudden mood change. She shifted on the bed, sitting beside him, glancing toward him quickly before looking away again. "Now what?"

"Hmm?" His mind wasn't on the woman beside him anymore, it was on his future with the woman beside him. Did they have a future together? It'd be nice if they did, but he knew for a fact that nothing in life was a sure bet.

"Spike?" She nudged his shoulder with her own, and then waved her hand in front of his face. "Hello?" When he snapped out of his reverie, she grew more nervous. "Or, maybe there is no 'now what?'. Maybe you wanted to leave when I stopped you, and then I stopped you, and you didn't leave, and now you want to. So, you should. If-- uh, if you want to." She cleared her throat, scooting a few inches away from him. "Do you want to?"

"No," he told her, clearing his throat as well as his thoughts. "I was just thinking. I do that occasionally. Got brains and all." He frowned at the bed behind him. "Uh, lie down."

She lost the nervous, babbling routine real quick, and raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, shaking her head. "Yeah, I don't think so," she scoffed, snorting a few times too.

"Relax," he chuckled, reaching behind him for the jar of salve. It was hiding under the corner of the blanket on the far side of the bed, making him work to get it. "I'm just gonna rub some of this--aha," he grabbed the jar and straightened up, tossing it into the air and catching it, "smelly rubbish on you."

She scooted back on the bed with a stern look at him, making sure he understood that's all they'd be doing as she rolled over to lie on her stomach. "You know just what to say to make my heart go pitter-patter, Spike."

"It's a gift," he muttered, opening the jar as he climbed on the bed, straddling her waist lightly. Pushing the sheet aside, baring her back to his gaze, he ran his salve-free hand down her side. "So you told Buffy?" After last night's argument, he was sure she wouldn't be telling anyone anything ever. At least nothing having to do with him. "What'd she say?"

Willow sighed, shifting underneath him a little as he started to rub the stinky gunk onto her skin. "Buffy's a skeptical kind of person," she told him, defending Buffy, which only served to annoy him more. "She can't help that she doesn't always believe things right away." She shivered when he slid his left hand down to her waist, and then a little lower, sliding around to the front. "Hands," she chastised, waiting until he'd returned to her back before continuing. "And she had good reason to be skeptical with you it turns out." She glanced back at him, shrugging. "I mean, you said you were in love with her, and now you say you're not."

"Not my fault," he muttered, sliding both hands to the front, cupping her breasts despite her attempts to wriggle free of his touch. "It felt like love."

She cleared her throat loudly, pointedly. "Hands, Spike, they seem to have wandered." She sucked in a breath, fighting the way her body was reacting to him, trying to calm her breathing, to not be affected by him. She was losing miserably.

He brushed his thumbs over her nipples a few times before retreating again. She was getting aroused, he could smell her, feel the difference in her body heat. Her heart was speeding up, her breathing becoming erratic. She wanted him.

Once his hands moved to her back again, she drew in a deep breath and relaxed as much as her tightly-strung body could with him this close. "How do you know it isn't love?" she asked, turning to look over her shoulder at him. "You thought it was, mistook it for love, so how do you know it's not?"

He followed the movements of his hands with his eyes as he splayed his fingers down again, across her stomach. He was wondering just how much he should tell her, how much she could be told before he scared her away. So long as she didn't laugh or ridicule him, he thought he was pretty well off. And since honesty was something that was lacking tonight, aside from a few half-truths and bent facts, he decided to tell her the truth.

"Because I'm remembering what real love feels like." Raising his eyes to hers, he slid his hands further down, avoiding where she wanted to be touched, sliding them down the front of her thighs instead.

She stared back at him for a second, looking like she didn't quite comprehend his words, but then she got it and her eyes widened. "Oh." She frowned, still staring back at him, not exactly sure how to respond to his partial declaration, so she just added another, "Oh," and turned to face the headboard again.

Safer territory. Better to stare at a wall than respond to a vampire who'd just told her he was falling in love with her.

He'd probably do the same thing, he thought with a sigh.

Sitting up, he dropped his hands to her legs, resting them there while he contemplated leaving again. No response from her probably meant she didn't feel the same way, and wasn't starting to. Yeah, leaving would be best about now.

He shifted on the bed, climbing off of her legs as he prepared to stand up, but she turned around suddenly, sitting up and gripping his wrists.

"Me too," she admitted, tightening her hands on his wrists until it became almost painful. "I think I'm starting to remember that feeling too."

He exhaled shortly, staring at her hands on his wrists, not allowing the joy he felt to show through quite yet. That she felt something for him was enough for now. It was enough. He drew in a deep breath, smiling at her, but she didn't notice, she was still looking down at the bed.

"And, though it's different this time, it's nice." Her eyes darted up to his before planting themselves right back onto the bed. "It's... I like this. It's--"

"Nice?" he ventured, ducking his head to catch her eye.

She nodded, tightening her hands even more. "Yeah. And scary." She finally realized she was still gripping his wrists and released them with a surprised grunt. "Sorry. Good thing you're a vampire," she chuckled, fidgeting with the sheet, straightening it over her chest, smoothing it out over her legs.

Standing up, keeping his eyes on the top of her bowed head, he stripped his shirt off again, dropping it to the floor beside the bed.

Her head raised up, her eyes showing her amusement. "You just don't give up, do you?"

He shook his head, lowering his hands to the waistband of his jeans, intending to strip them off before remembering he was going to tease her a bit. Get her used to the idea of the two of them dirtying up the bed.

Her eyes dropped to his hands, waiting, but she was about to be disappointed.

He put one knee on the edge of the bed, leaning down to her long enough to plant a kiss on her lips.

"Mm," she mumbled, closing her eyes as he continued to move his lips over hers. After a minute, she pushed him away, breathless and panting. She stared at his chest as she tried to catch her breath.

"See anything you like?" he asked, tucking his tongue behind his teeth to keep from laughing at the blush creeping up her cheeks.

Three times in one night, had to be a record.

"Not really," she answered thoughtfully, smiling up at him. "Seen one blonde god, you've seen 'em all," she said in dismissal, shrugging her naked shoulders.

Spike burst out laughing, wondering if she'd been talking to his robot. "Ain't that the truth?" he agreed, running his eyes over her colorful back. "I'm starting to prefer red anyway. And black and blue mixed in with a little green and yellow." He raised his eyes to her hair, taking it in, sliding a hand down the red strands. "Yeah, red's more my thing these days."

She sighed contentedly, rolling over and lying down, snuggling into the mattress.

She was in the middle of the bed on her stomach, covered only to the small of her back. The rest of her was open to his eyes.

Crawling across the bed to her, he gently straddled her thighs, moving up a bit to be able to reach all of her. The jar of stinky salve was dropped to the bed in favor of him running his hands along her skin again.

She shifted underneath him, anticipating the first touch of his hands on her back, expecting more of the cold wet salve. What she got was strong, cool hands caressing her lower back. He spanned his hands along her back, covering the mottled bruising that had her whole back looking like an abstract painting.

Trailing his fingers along her sides, he watched her skin shift and move with each breath she took. His fingers slid along the sides of her breasts again, and she drew in a breath, making the skin stretch taut.

He leaned over her, not pressing against her, but close enough to become a few degrees warmer. "How badly does it hurt?" he asked, running his hands up her back with a little pressure.

"Ow," she mumbled, turning her face into the pillow with a gasp. "Kind of badly." Her voice was pain-filled, her back collecting a fine sheen of sweat as she panted. Both pain and desire were fighting for dominance, and he took pity on her.

"More stinky salve to the rescue," he said with a chuckle, hiding his frown from her. The fact that she was still this sore and filled with pain had him worried. She was hurting and he didn't like that. He wanted her to be pain-free and worry-free, to be walking around without a care in the world except whether or not he intended to make love to her once, or more, that night.

"Oh, yay," she said, "more Eau De Sewers." She turned her head to the left, sighing softly as she pushed herself onto her elbows. "Spike...?" trailing off, she glanced over her shoulder at him, then straight in front of her again. "Thank you. I mean, you know, for being so nice to me af-- after last night."

He unscrewed the lid on the jar of salve, dipping a few of the fingers of his left hand into the goopy stuff. "Well, I can't really help it," he muttered, "because you really, really turn me on. You get me hotter than a griddle during a pancake cook-off."

"Pancake cook-off?" she repeated, snorting with laughter.

Of course she focused on that part of his comment, completely ignoring the compliment he'd paid her.

He shrugged lightly, chuckling at her. "They've got chili cook-offs, why not a pancake one?" He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up the salve, sending up a smell like the sewers of a zoo. "God, this stuff seems to get more disgusting each time I use it."

Shifting a little to get into a better position on her thighs, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck before sliding his hands along the bruising below.

"Oh, hey," she gasped, wriggling underneath him, "that feels good." She glared at him over her shoulder, her stern voice making him laugh all the more. "And you're so not playing fair."

"If that's how you react to a repulsive-smelling salve, I can't wait to see how you respond to me." Her skin heated again, turning the pale flesh of her neck and face pink. She was sexy when she blushed.

"You know that's-- wait. What? No," she denied, trying to sit up and turn to face him at the same time. He held her still, keeping her from moving anything more than her head. "There'll be no responding to anyone or anything. Not tonight. There's too much--"

He leaned down again, kissing her shoulder blades one at a time, then smoothed his hands over them.

"Cheater." She closed her eyes with a moan, shivering underneath his hands. Another moan escaped her as he rubbed gently along her neck and shoulders.

Spike fought the urge to strip off his jeans and take her right then and there, any way he wanted to. She wasn't his bot, and she was already hurt, so he had to be gentle with her, but it was hard. He was hard. Harder than flippin' concrete, he thought with a groan.

He finished spreading the salve, raining a trail of kisses along the salve-free parts of her neck. Wasn't long before he needed to seek relief or die trying. He climbed off of her and headed into the bathroom.

She frowned at him, opening her mouth to-- protest? Or encourage him to leave?

"Gotta wash this gunk off my hands." He stopped in the bathroom doorway, running his eyes over her, feeling his own body heating up with every inch he took in. Left silent was the part where he needed clean hands to touch her everywhere he intended to touch her.

"Oh. Yeah, you should probably do that." She laid her head back down on the pillow, closing her eyes.

He dashed into the bathroom, slowly, of course, and hurriedly washed off all the salve, needing to use soap three times before the greasy feel of it left him, along with the smell. Drying his hands off he glanced idly around for lotion. He didn't want to touch her with dry, papery-feeling hands.

"If you want some lotion," she called to him as he entered the bedroom again, "um, I think there's some on the table over there." She gestured behind her.

Was she reading his bloody mind? He scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes, pretending he had no intention of grabbing it as soon as possible. "I'm a vampire, love. What use would I have for lotion?" He sat on the bed, running his eyes over her, following some of the trails his eyes took with his hands.

"Then I'd think you'd need it even more," she said reasonably. "Dead skin and all that." She shrugged a little, moving less stiffly than before, but obviously still sore.

"Hmm," he muttered, taking in every freckle and mark on her. "Shows how much you know." God, she was beautiful. The bot was an exact replica of her in every way, except freckles. And moles. Scars. Anything and everything that marked skin was missing from the bot, and he liked that the real Willow had all that. Made her feel more real to him, as if she wasn't already more real than anyone he'd ever wanted.

But, before he touched her too much, he did need some lotion on his dry hands. He stood up with a heavy sigh and skirted the bed, moving gratefully toward the vanity table. "If you want me to use some, I'll use some. It won't kill me, I guess." He squinted at all the bottles and tubes of things, reaching for the only one resembling a lotion bottle and raised it high enough to read. "I just better not start smelling of perfumy things." But the lotion wasn't perfume-scented. He lifted an eyebrow, staring at her back. Vanilla.

Could this be where one of those unique smells was coming from? He uncapped the bottle, taking a deep whiff of it, pulling it away from him almost immediately. This wasn't it at all. The smell was completely different.

"You won't," she told him, amusement evident in her voice. "I don't like perfumy things." She opened her eyes, watching him. "But it'd serve you right if you did."

He looked up at her innocently as he tipped the lotion up, dumping a small amount of the thick liquid into his palm. He quickly recapped the bottle, setting it back in its place on the table. He rubbed the lotion into his hands with relief, and skirted around the bed again. "Here now, no need to get evil," he told her, grinning at the rolled eyes she sent his way.

"Please," she scoffed, not buying the innocence one bit. "You came over here with the express purpose of trying to get me into bed. _I'm_ not the one who's evil in this room."

Well, she had him there. He shrugged as he stood over her, grinning and clapping his hands once loudly, before rubbing them together eagerly. "So! All ready to have sex?"

She snorted with laughter, her amused eyes landing on his. "Oh, yeah, primed and ready to go. See me going?" She settled more comfortably into the mattress, smiling in contentment.

"I see you going..." he admitted, sitting on the bed as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Going at it all night. With me, of course."

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking very much the haughty lady. "Of course. But it's probably not going-- I mean, it's not going to happen. Definitely not going to. 'Cause... well, you're going to be a gentleman."

He shook his head, staying right where he was. He had no intention of leaving until sex was had. With Willow. The real Willow. He smiled and leaned down, kissing her cheek softly, just on the outside of her lips. "I can be a gentleman, Willow." He slid a hand down her shoulder and arm, settling it on her waist. "When I make love to you, I'll say 'please' and 'thank you' and 'can I have some more?'. You know," he said absently, "this body of yours is perfect..."

"Oh," she accused, "you're a peeker! You're so busted." Her eyebrows drew together in a frown, her lips pursing in anger.

"Guilty," he admitted, glancing briefly up at her face before returning his attention to his hand on her hip. She shivered, squirming when he touched a ticklish spot.

"No tickling," she warned him, turning as she sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest. "I mean it. I get violent when I'm tickled. I don't like it." She stared at him, waiting for him to agree.

He held his hands up innocently, chuckling at the threatening look she tossed him. Apparently tickling wasn't one of her favorite past-times. "All right, agreed. No tickling. Is there a story there... or...?"

"Yeah. I don't like being tickled, end of story." She laid back down, watching him closely, making sure he didn't dart a hand out, one that was intent on tickling the bejesus out of her.

"No tickling," he promised, smoothing her hair behind her ear, tucking it there with his thumb. "But I can't promise there won't be touching." Her eyes stayed steady on his, not moving away nervously, searching for something other than him to look at. "Because there's going to be touching. Lots of it."

She sighed in a put-upon way, looking like he'd just taken all the fight out of her and knocked down her resolve. "Touching is... good, I like touching. But, I'm sore. And you're..."

"Turned on to the point of embarrassing myself at the first touch of your hands on my oh-so-hot body?" The smile on his face turned rueful. She thought he was kidding.

She chuckled softly. "Well, I was gonna say, 'you're in a house full of people who aren't real fond of you at the moment.' but yours works too." She looked away, lifting a hand to free the hair he'd tucked behind her ear as she contemplated his words. "Are you really?"  
Instead of answering, he stood up, raising an eyebrow at her. Her eyes lowered slowly to the bulge in his jeans, and then jumped back up to his face with an exhaled breath.

"Men got it hard, love--"

She burst out laughing at his poor choice of words, silencing her snickers with her hand. Her amused eyes flittered back down to his jeans, unbuckled and partially undone. The amusement faded away, replaced by a lingering fire that burned inside her. "You know," she said quietly, "maybe it wouldn't be a horrible thing to... well, we can have--" her eyes raised to his, her look almost pleading with him to agree. "Sex between us wouldn't be wrong, per se, right? I mean, my happiness isn't with her anymore. And hers isn't with me. Diana said so."

"Who's Diana?" he asked in confusion, knowing he'd missed something somewhere, but he wasn't sure what. "And does this mean you've decided to be naughty?" He couldn't stop the grin that stole up his face, smirking at her as he stood up and shed his jeans, not giving her time to stop him.

"Not naughty," she disagreed, letting her eyes stray ever so subtly to his erection, as if it was a scenic route on the way to other places. Only, her eyes never left it when they found it. "Being naughty implies wrongness, and there's nothing wrong with us having sex. We're adults. We're single. We're... obviously attracted to each other." Her eyes were still on him, unmoving, looking all contemplative and thoughtful.

"Up here," he teased, snapping his fingers in the air by his face. "Hello, I'm up here." His words echoed her own from earlier, and he was rather satisfied to be able to turn the tables on her a bit.

She blushed, closing her eyes in embarrassment as she dropped her face into the pillow with a groan. Poor, miserable thing. He should comfort her.

Usually, he'd stand proudly, displaying his rather decent-sized hard-on, but he didn't this time, choosing instead to be the gentleman he'd promised her he could be. Sitting on the bed beside her, he smoothed a hand down her back, doing his best to comfort her in her time of shame.

Leaning down, he placed a kiss on the nape of her neck. "Need another look, love? I could stand here a bit longer... I'll even pose if you'd like." He snickered his laughter against her skin when she only groaned louder.

"It's been a while," she said into the pillow, her voice muffled, her words almost indiscernible. She lifted her head slowly, biting her lip as she dragged her eyes to his face. "Since Oz. I mean, obviously there was Tara. And we did things." She grinned suddenly, her eyes losing focus as she fell into her memories.

"Did things," he repeated with a snort of laughter. "What, uh, what sort of things did you do? Come on, kiss and tell." His encouraging smile had her rolling her eyes.

"Stop making fun of me. I'm just saying, I haven't-- well we didn't... use things, it was all rather vanilla between us." Once again, her eyes lost focus and her smile turned sappy. "Like French Vanilla... with whip cream and cherries on top," she said absently. "And chocolate. With nuts." Her eyes darted quickly to his, narrowing, daring him to say anything. "You know what I mean."

He nodded sagely, not making a snide comment, like he wanted to. "So, no whips and chains. Right." Tilting his head to the side, he pretended to consider the situation. She was so naive and sweet at times. "I think I can do that." His grin turned lascivious, he couldn't help it, he was imagining her dressed in lots of leather. "Although, leather is a valid fashion choice."

She slapped his arm, harder than he thought necessary. "Hey, I'm being truthful here, and you're making fun of me." Sitting up under his semi-trapping hold, she glared his way. "I was gonna have sex with you. Was gonna let you do things to me--"

"Things," he mumbled, his imagination working overtime. "What sorts of things, love?" He reached out and tried to lift the sheet from her.

She crossed her arms over her sheet-clad chest, pouting at him. "You'll never know now. Nope," she assured him, "you lost your chance."

"Oh, hey now," he tried not to whine. "No need to get irritated, I was just playing with you." Seeing the grin working its way up her lips, he had to chuckle. "Now who's being evil?"

She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head sadly. "Men." Her eyes turned solemn again, her smile losing most of its steam. "Can we just go slow?" she asked, reaching out a hand to touch his leg. "I need some time to get used to--" her eyes widened, a stunned look crossing her face. "I just realized that... I'm going to have Spike with sex. I mean, I'm going to have sex with Spike. Wow."

"Never in a million years?" he wondered, watching her to make sure she was happy about it. Wouldn't do for her to be depressed about the thought of having her way with him.

She nodded almost frantically. "Pretty much. So... slow?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he answered, letting her hand explore his skin. She seemed content with just letting it rest there while her fingers traced circles, but he wanted more. "As much as I want to just lay you down and slide inside of you, to touch you..." he trailed off when her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Swallowing thickly, he had to close his eyes, to try to erase the image he suddenly had of her lips wrapped around him before continuing. "To have you moving underneath me, or on top of me. I want you, and I'll take it as slow as you want me to."

Her tongue slid between her lips, wetting them slowly. "Never in a million years?" she queried, looking a little confused, and a lot turned on.

He shook his head, slipping his hand behind her head to draw her closer. Just before his lips touched hers, he whispered, "I've thought about you before."

Her eyes flickered to his, half-closed, sliding shut as his lips touched lightly to hers. "Mm, I'll bet there was a lot of death and blood involved in those thoughts."

He shrugged a little, as if it was a given. "Mostly." She knew he was a vampire, so he was pretty sure she wouldn't be shocked by the admission. Touching his lips to the side of her mouth, he darted his tongue out, sliding it along her lip as he smiled naughtily. "You should've been inside my head while I was chained up in the Watcher's loo."

"Fantasies?" she asked in surprise, pulling back to stare at him. "About us? I mean, the good guys us. The Scoobies. Not... us, us. You and me, us."

He pulled away with a sigh, tired of all the interruptions keeping him from getting what he wanted, which was Willow. "About you. And a few about Buffy. Mostly, those involved me chaining her up and forcing her to eat something she hated for a few weeks."

Willow's lips twitched as she tried not to laugh. "Um... really?" she giggled, snorting with laughter despite her best efforts.

"Really," he mumbled, pressing his lips firmly to hers. The laughter died in her throat and the questions faded from her eyes as they slid shut.

Lips melded, tasting, touching. They breathed as one, moving their lips over each other's, exploring the now familiar flesh of one another's mouths.

Spike wanted so desperately to kiss her with all the force he could muster, which, being a vampire, was considerable, but he kept himself from doing that because he knew he'd hurt her.

She scooted closer to him, placing another hand on his calf, tracing small patterns on his skin. He tried to lift her up, encouraging her to move into his lap, but she resisted.

"Slow, remember?" she mumbled, opening her mouth fiercely on his, pulling herself nearer to him.

He didn't bother answering, since he'd have to pull away from her delicious mouth to do so. He'd prefer to keep his lips on hers, run his tongue over her teeth, slide her lip into his mouth to suck on the flesh, making her moan.

Slow was working just fine for him.

She placed a hand on the bed beside him, keeping her lips moving firmly on his as she raised up onto her knees. And then her mouth left his, leaving him extremely dissatisfied. Instead of allowing him more, she planted her other hand on the bed to the right of him.

Apparently it wasn't working for her anymore.

She groaned in frustration. "Slow is too slow."

He pulled back a ways to get a good look at her lust-filled eyes. Her face was flushed, her hair wild about her face, her skin heated with desire.

"Bloody gorgeous," he muttered, sliding a hand behind her head to draw her mouth down to his.

She leaned forward, kissing him lightly, just a teasing touch before pulling away again. He grinned and allowed her to push him back until he was lying on the bed with her poised above him.

She crawled over him like a predator, her eyes steady on his, her mouth dipping down to touch him, lick him, taste him wherever her eyes happened to land. He was enjoying this side of her. He'd assumed she'd be a kitten in bed.

Apparently she was more like a tiger, all grace and fluid movements.

Even her back arched like a cat's as she moved up his body, her eyes lighting on his with heat and promise; a promise of things to come. Once she was on his waist, she sat down, straddling him with a sigh. He could feel her skin against his, warm and soft, but muscular. She was strong, just as he'd known she would be.

And to finally have those legs wrapping around him-- he closed his eyes with a happy sigh, letting her have her way with him.

He felt her mouth touch his, but instead of a kiss, she took his lip between her teeth, as he'd done with hers, and sucked it into her mouth, nipping at it with her teeth as she splayed her body over his.

"Careful of your back," he warned her, sliding a hand down that very part of her body and lower, to her softly rounded behind. She pressed her hips down on his stomach, sliding backwards a little, leaving a wet trail as she searched for friction, but, judging by the frustrated sigh she emitted, she was disappointed.

He ran his hands over her back and thighs, caressing and touching, sliding and tracing patterns along the back of her body with eagerly exploring hands. He pressed her closer to him every chance he got, unable to get enough of touching her. Opening his eyes, he pulled her face down to his. Threading his fingers through her hair, he lightly brought her closer, touching his lips to hers.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" He breathed in deeply, inhaling her scents, all of them. Desire, sweat, the smell of her skin, which was salty and sweet at the same time. He inhaled all of it before lowering her neck to his mouth. A small amount of fear seeped into the air around her, making him even harder. God, she was just... everything about her was turning him on, making him hard, spiraling around inside him.

Her skin beneath his lips was tangy. He slid his tongue out, moving his lips wider to suck on the flesh in preparation for biting her. His face changed, his eyes going wide as he realized what he was doing.

He shoved his face into her neck, hiding his vampire visage from her, hoping she hadn't noticed. The level of fear rising from her didn't go up, so he was sure she hadn't gotten an eyeful of ridges and fangs. Shoving the persona away, he concentrated on her hands, sliding down his shoulders and arms. One slid behind his head, encouraging him to... not bite her, not to taste her blood, but to taste her skin.

She moaned in disappointment when he pulled away from the enticing smell and feel of her neck. "I thought vampires were supposed to _like_ necks," she complained, her laughing eyes finding his.

"Normally, yeah," he agreed, leaving his explanation at that. The feel of her weight on top of him was driving him wild. He wanted to be inside of her already. Had wanted that since before he'd reached her house. Did he ever not want to be inside her?

These days? No.

The Willow bot was his one saving grace, but now, not even that was enough. He had to have the real thing. All of her.

But what he wanted most, eluded him.

The sheet was still trapped between their bodies, keeping him from feeling her stomach and thighs, her breasts, everything he wanted to feel against his own skin. He minded that a great deal, though she didn't seem to.

She hooked her legs back behind her, beneath his, wrapping her feet under his calves. Sliding down a little, to where his erection was prominently displaying the sheet for all and sundry, she moved down until she came into contact with him.

"Oo," she breathed, her eyes flying to his when his hips jerked up. She tightened her thighs around his sheet-enshrouded erection, forcing a gasp from him.

"We'll just get rid of this," he mumbled, reaching between them to pull the sheet free.

She shook her head, not moving enough to allow him to move it. Her smile was eager and sexy, her eyes wide with lust. "Not yet."

Okay, he could play her games for a little while. But not long if his body had a say in it.

She moved again, sliding against him, lowering herself until she was splayed against him completely, shifting the sheet with every movement. It slid against the tip of him, the sides of him, every damn inch of his sensitive skin, forcing a gasp of discomfort and pleasure from his lips.

His fingers clutched tighter against her backside.

"Ooo, again," she gasped, making him smile lustily at her. "I think--" she began in a whisper, looking over her shoulder at the tent he was pitching. She cleared her throat and turned back to him with a cheesy grin. "I think someone's happy to see me."

Spike rolled his eyes and grinned just as wide as her. "I think someone was happy to see you before he even got here."

Her grin went from cheesy to sweet. "Ya know, I think I kinda like this new you... well, not new, probably," she amended, frowning thoughtfully, sitting up on him a little, depriving him of her body. "Probably just new 'cause I've never seen it. You're always grr-this and grr-that when you--"

He growled, pressing her back down against him, flattening her body along his. "Stay," he warned her when she tried to sit back up again.

"See? Just like that," she continued, giving up trying to move. She crossed her arms over his chest and rested her chin on them, smiling at him. "I think my happiness lies with you," she told him with a far away look, working through something in her mind. "She told me it wasn't with Tara anymore, so... makes sense, doesn't it?" She sighed, returning her gaze to him.

She leaned forward, pushing herself up so that she could kiss him.

Her mouth settled over his, but only for a second before trailing a path down his jaw and neck, leaving him unsatisfied with the quick kiss. She sat up a little, rocking against his hip, trying to get a little pleasure, but he could see it wasn't working. For him, on the other hand, it was working maybe too well.

The sheet slipped and slid around him, creating the oddest sensations on his body. The slightly rough fabric rubbed his sensitive skin the wrong way which was creating all the right sensations.

Her body was hot, warming him with each touch, every kiss. Her hands slid down his arms, scratching his skin, then raised up to his chest, scraping down there as well. He gasped, arching up again, wanting to be inside her. The sheet was hot, transferring her body heat to him. It was also wet in spots.

Her body was wet for him, ready for him to take her, but she wasn't taking that pleasure. Wasn't allowing him to either. She continued to rub herself on him, gasping when she managed to get a little friction going.

Lips descended to his, taking his mouth forcefully. He clenched his fingers into her flesh, holding her against his erection. His hips were arching more quickly now, seeking out the friction she was denying him, but finding it against the sheet and the elusive touch of her shrouded skin.

She panted on him, moving more quickly, lowering herself until she was able to slide completely along his body.

"Enough of the teasing," he ground out, thrusting into the air again, groaning in frustration when she moved away again. Enough was enough. He wanted her now, and he'd damn well have her. He wasn't going to allow himself to go off on the bloody sheet like a prepubescent boy having his first sexual experience.

She nodded, lifting herself enough to push the sheet from their chests and stomach, but that was all she did. She laid back down, pressing her soft, warm skin against his own, flattening her breasts on his chest with a sigh. Her teeth lowered to his lip again, biting and tugging it into her mouth as he attempted to lift her high enough to free the rest of the sheet, but she wouldn't let him.

"Use your imagination, Spike."

He didn't need imagination, he had Willow, and she was everything he craved. But she wasn't letting him have it. She trailed her lips down, shifting against his erection again, forcing him to grab her arms and hold her still.

The sheet was dragged against the tip of him and along the side while one of her legs brushed him, pressing down. His hips jerked up again and he came, desperately trying to get the sheet free and slide inside her. It didn't happen though and he ended up dirtying her sheets anyway, trying to calm his bucking hips beneath her.

She groaned in frustration, sliding herself along his sheet-covered thigh, gaining no pleasure for herself.

He felt her body sliding against his as he started to recover. Not wanting to leave her unsatisfied, he grabbed her arms and sat up, turning with her in his lap. "Grab the headboard," he told her, lying back as she frowned at him. He threaded his hands through her hair, smoothing the sweaty strands from her face, motioning for her to grab the headboard.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously, crawling hesitantly up his body. Her knees landed just outside his torso as she slowly moved up to his chest, but then she stopped, looking down at him in embarrassment.

He slid his hands down her thighs, which were on either side of his chest. The smell she was giving off made his nostrils flare. The heat and moistness seeping into his skin from between her legs was the most erotic thing he'd ever felt. He'd never had a human like this. Lifting his head a bit, he kissed the inside of her right thigh, darting his tongue out to taste her, but she wasn't close enough yet.

"I want to taste you, Willow. More than anything, I want to feel you." He scooted his hands beneath her and gave her a little push.

Her arms raised slowly and her hands closed around the wrought iron headboard, gripping and un-gripping it a few times as she waited, biting her lip. "Are-- are you sure you want to--"

He raised an incredulous eyebrow at her, unable to believe she had to ask.

She swallowed, moving higher on the bed, even with his head. "And this, Willow, is at the top of the list of things you never thought you'd be doing," she mumbled to herself.

He chuckled, grabbing her left leg and hooking it over his head, looking up at what he'd been denied. "Hang on," he said hoarsely, feeling her warm legs tighten and then loosen as she hung in midair, kneeling stiffly above him.

She eeped and squirmed around, but didn't move away, just looked down at him.

"Open," he whispered, closing his eyes at the smell wafting to him from so close. All he had to do was slide a finger in, she was right there, waiting for his touch, trusting him not to hurt her. But he wanted to taste her first.

He opened his eyes, which he was sure were flickering from human to demon, and growled low in his throat.

She spread her legs further apart, still waiting. Waiting for the pleasure he was promising her with his eyes.

Sliding his hands back up her thighs, he slid them around to the inside, teasing and touching lightly, drawing little patterns on her flesh until he reached her hips and drew her down to his mouth.

At the first touch of his tongue on her, she gasped and jerked up. "And again that scary part comes into it," she whispered as she lowered herself down to his mouth again. She swallowed, relaxing over him as his tongue slid inside of her.

"I won't hurt you," he told her before sliding his tongue deeper into her wet heat. She shuddered, quivering over him, stiffening up as he tried to press her lower, giving him better access. "Relax."

"Little hard to do..." she panted, pressing down as he thrust his tongue inside her. His lips worked against hers, his tongue tracing the outside of her, tasting her essence, tasting what she was.

He wondered if there was magick in there. In every part of her body, in every pore, droplet of sweat, and in the hot moist center of her. His arms hooked around her thighs, pulling her closer, spreading her wide with his fingers. Her skin was soft on her thighs, rough inside her, and he was getting hard again. She smelled and tasted so good.

He licked her and then slid a finger inside, opening her even more, flicking against her clit.

She shuddered again, grinding down on him rhythmically, sitting lower with each thrust. "This is so wrong," she bit out, tightening her muscles on his finger and tongue. "So very-- oh god," she gasped, her panting growing louder.

He darted a glance toward the door, keeping an ear out for approaching voices, steps, or heartbeats. All remained silent as far as he could tell, but Willow was getting louder with each breath.

"Shh," he chuckled, flicking his tongue over her clit. "Don't want guests right now, do we?"

"No," she ground out, "no, god no! We don't," she practically yelled, pressing herself fully down on his mouth.

He lifted a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her cries of ecstasy. He slid a finger inside her mouth to suck on at the same time as he slid his tongue deeper inside her, lapping at the delicious taste of her.

She bit down on his finger, forcing a growl of pain from him as well as a moan of his own kind of ecstasy. It hurt, but felt so good, so right.

She sucked on his finger as she thrust her hips against his mouth, moaning and crying out, but in a much more muffled manner. Seconds later, she threw her head back and screamed around his finger as she came.

He sucked on her flesh as much as she sucked on his, flicking her clit a few times with the tip of his tongue. She tasted so bloody good. So heavenly.

She shuddered on him, relaxing into his mouth. Her hips jerked a few times as he blew on her, teasing her with his tongue.

Her muscles clenched around his tongue, her teeth scraping against his finger as he pulled it free.

She sank bonelessly to the wall, knocking the headboard against it once or twice. He lifted her up, drawing her down beside him, tucking her against his side. Her breath left her in a rush as she snuggled back against him.

"Mm, that was... wow and stuff," she mumbled tiredly, scooting back even further.

He was hard again. And still wanting to be inside of her. Sliding his hand down her side, he lifted her leg behind her, setting it on his as she sighed in contentment. "Please," he mumbled, playing the gentleman as he leaned forward, whispering in her ear, "can I have some more?"

"More?" she yawned, covering her mouth with her hand before letting it drop to the bed in front of her. "Already?"

"Vamp recovery time is faster than a human's." He thrust his hips forward a little, letting her feel his erection against her entrance.

She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling crookedly. "Wanna share some of that vamp recovery time stuff?"

He moved forward, kissing her lips lightly as he slid inside her body with a groan of pure pleasure, finally sheathing himself in her heat. "God," he ground out, feeling her tighten around him. He draped an arm around her waist, hauling her back against him, moving deeper into her as she pressed back with her hips. Careful not to jostle her back, he slowly and carefully moved inside her, building her pleasure as well as his own.

She was hot and wet, her muscles clenching around him. A few mewling sounds came from her as he slid his hand down and caressed her clit. Her hand reached back to grab his leg, clutching it tightly as she began to move faster against him. Her voice rose again, but this time, instead of sucking on his finger, she turned her head into the pillow, muffling her moans and whimpers, and eventually her scream as she came.

He lifted her leg higher, sheathing himself further inside her body, thrusting harder and faster with each stroke. The feel of her body tightening around him pushed him over the edge and he followed her into orgasm, groaning into her neck.

She relaxed against him, sighing as she loosened her hand on his leg. His hand loosened from her waist, raising to trace patterns along her stomach. He pressed a kiss on her neck, pulling her tighter against him.


	16. Chapter 16

Willow stretched her body as much as she could, reveling in the pain that was currently not showing up in any of her muscles. It was good to wake up beside someone-- a someone who felt something sort of love-ish toward her.

That she felt sort of love-ish right back at him was nice too.

She relaxed against Spike's side, wondering when, and why, he'd raised her into a sitting position beside him. She'd obviously been deep into her slumber.

He was sitting up with his back against the headboard, while she rested against his left side, facing his chest, that naked and muscle-bound chest she was growing really fond of. Her head was tucked against his shoulder, her left arm stretched out across his stomach.

Had he draped and posed her against him? Like a Barbie doll, she thought, stifling a giggle.

She could feel his muscles loosen and tighten as he moved, feel the softness of his skin beneath her own. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, warming his skin with her own heat, giving him borrowed heat. And--aw--his hand was resting on top of her head, holding it still for a kiss.

Double aw.

Spike was being so sweet and tender toward her. Seeing this side of him compared to the hard-as-nails, always arguing, furious vampire she was used to seeing when he dealt with Buffy, she had a hard time reconciling the two personas.

He shifted against her the smallest bit, resting his cheek comfortably on her head while the flat of his hand rubbed up and down her arm. Holding herself still, she took stock of the situation and her feelings.

The situation was nice, and heck, she felt pretty good. That worked for her. She was satisfied with that. Not to mention the feeling of Spike's nicely muscled arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to him, his cheek still resting on her head... and the feel of his hand as it smoothed the hair back from her forehead.

"Tell me about Tara," he said quietly, startling her with the suddenness of his deep voice. "What happened?"

Uncurling her fingers from where they'd clenched into his side, she started to push away to look at him, but he held her still. Well, she could stay here if he wanted her to. It was a nice place to be. "What do you mean?"

There was a tiny thought that he was curious about Tara because he wanted to run to seduce her too. Maybe he was making his way down the ranks of the Scoobies, from one end of the women to the next. Seducing them all in his quest to-- okay, stupidest person of the year? Willow Rosenberg, ladies and gentlemen, Willow Rosenberg.

"Why aren't you two still together?" His hand slid down to her back, rubbing her gently up and down, smoothing the tired and sore muscles there. "What broke the unbreakable lovebirds up?"

Unbreakable no more, she thought, though there was no sadness there anymore. She'd come to accept the facts over the past week, and Spike had certainly helped in that regard. He took her mind off of things that couldn't be changed, gave her something to think about besides the loss of Tara and the evil magick-crazed person she'd become for a while.

Not to mention the death she'd caused.

"Well," she said slowly, snuggling closer to his bare chest, cuddling against his hard body. "A few weeks ago, Tara found a spell and she wanted to try it."

"I'm going to take a wild guess here and say... something went wrong?" There was no accusation in his voice, no blame or suspicion, which was unusual.

Whenever she mentioned spells, it seemed like everyone around her groaned and asked what she'd done wrong. He wasn't technically blaming her. Just... inquiring. "No, nothing went wrong."

She pulled away from him, to be able to see him. His deep blue eyes, eyes that she now knew were deep blue, were watching her with interest, and they only dipped down to her naked chest once.

Hurray for him.

"Nothing went wrong," she repeated, straightening up, keeping her back free of the sheets behind her. She pulled the blanket around and draped it in front of her, shivering in the chilly air. "Everything worked, it was all good. Well, you know, except the part where Tara was hit with my magick... thingie, and knocked out." She shrugged, not having any answers for that part of it. "Once she started breathing again, she was fine."

His eyes widened in surprise. "You hit her with magick and killed her for a few seconds and this is a spell that went _right_?"

She rolled her eyes in agreement, knowing he was thinking the same thing she'd thought at the time. She'd done something big to screw up again. Only... looking more closely at him, she realized that he wasn't thinking that. He was just curious, still not being blame-y. "Yeah, I thought I screwed it up too, especially after we began to lose interest in each other."

"Knocked the feelings right out of you, did it?" Okay, now he sounded skeptical. His eyebrows raised in disbelief, his mouth twisting into a scowl. "Don't do that spell on me. Ever."

"I won't," she hurriedly assured him, looking up from where she was tucking the end of the pink blanket into the makeshift dress she'd fashioned on herself. Plain and simple, but beautiful, dahlink. "It didn't actually take our feelings away either. They're still there, and probably always will be. But we just..." she sighed, trying to think of the best way to describe the effects of the spell on them.

His hand lifted up, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear again. He seemed to like to do that, and though it was nice, and kind of sweet, it was also bugging her. She resisted the urge to pull the hair free from where it was tickling her jaw, and focused her attention on his hand as it dropped to his lap. He raised one knee up, resting his arm on top of it as he waited, watching her with interest.

"Then why are you two not two anymore?" His other hand, the free one, moved to the back of his neck, rubbing his muscles.

Her eyes followed his hand, frowning at the marks on his wrists. "It took all the pleasure out of our relationship," she said absently, frowning even more when she saw his other wrist was in a similar condition. "Where'd those bruises come from?"

"Hmm?" he said in confusion, glancing down at his wrists, which were ringed in bruises. He raised his left arm to eye height, turning his wrist around in puzzlement. "I don't-- oh, uh, you." He chuckled at the wide-eyed look of blank surprise on her face.

"Me?" she echoed, shaking her head. "I didn't do that."

"When I tried to leave," he reminded her, smoothing the back of his fingers across her cheek. "You persuaded me to stay."

"Oh." She hadn't realized she was gripping him that hard. Huh. She'd bruised a vampire. A smile slipped across her lips, causing him to frown. "Guess I don't know my own strength."

"Mm," he agreed, tracing his thumb across the arch of her eyebrow. "So, the pleasure was gone, but everything else was still there?"

It took her a few seconds to figure out what he was talking about, but then she remembered their conversation. The one they were having where they were talking and not just concentrating on touching. "Oh, right. Yes, duh. It was a Happiness Spell. Supposedly, when done, the spell allows the people involved to feel the full extent of their happiness in all things. All the time."

"So, you did the spell, and it took away the happiness rather than giving it to you?" She nodded, causing him to tilt his head to the side in confusion. "But you said the spell worked. Sounds to me like it went poof."

Willow nodded some more, while staring at his lips. Had they always been that kissable? "It worked, but..." she sighed, turning around so that she could sit against his side, tucked comfortably under his arm. "The spell was-- um, instead of giving us all the blah, blah, blah, it took it away so that we could find the person we're meant to be truly happy with." She shrugged, feeling his arm raise up with the movement. "At least, that's the way I took it. I asked Diana--"

"Again with the Diana," he interrupted, wrapping his other arm around her waist, holding her in his embrace. "Is this the Goddess Diana? As in the Goddess of love and all that?"

"That's the one. The condor feather spell?" she reminded him, tilting her head back to look up at him. "That was for a spell to talk to Diana, to ask her what I did wrong." Sliding her hand behind him, because it was simply more comfortable there, she cuddled into his side. "She said I didn't do anything wrong, just that my happiness didn't truly lie with Tara."

He was silent for a minute, but when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "You think your happiness lies with me?"

She was sure she heard a small amount of hope in there, but she couldn't have. Big bad vampires did not crave the company of little human witches. It just wasn't done.

So, she played dumb. "Um, no. I-- no, why?" Smart, real smart. He wasn't going to suspect she was lying at all. Nope. She sighed softly, closing her eyes in aggravation at herself. "Maybe," she admitted, cringing in anticipation of his response.

"Works for me," he told her, tightening his arms around her even more.

Willow nodded silently, wondering if he felt like he could possibly find happiness with her. It'd be nice if he mentioned it, but he seemed content to hold her and stay silent. "What about Buffy?" He'd told her already that the feelings he thought he had for Buffy weren't what he'd thought they were at the time. She believed him. She did. But, if there was a chance that that was going to change again, she'd rather know now.

His hand stilled on her back, his chest rising and falling with a single breath. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "I think my Buffy-obsession was little more than misplaced feelings. Told you before; Dru was gone, and I'd been with her my whole life, but for the first twenty or so. Harmony was a replacement body, nothing more."

She nodded, understanding what he was saying, and even feeling an affinity for him and his floundering. Oz certainly had thrown her for a loop when he left, so she could understand how easy it was to want someone--anyone--so badly that he mistook that need for love.

She hadn't done that with Tara, but she easily could have. "When you came to us for help, Buffy was all, 'punch first, demand answers later'. And, oddly enough, you liked that?"

"No," he denied, "I didn't. Hated it in fact. But as time went on... Buffy became something in my mind. Something untouchable, out of reach. Forbidden--"

"--fruit," she finished for him, stretching her arms further around him, touching the tips of her fingers together around his waist. "I know the feeling well, Grasshopper." She tipped her head up, smiling at him. "Xander."

"Xander?" He shook his head in confusion, looking a bit repulsed. "I'm sitting naked here, love, don't bring _him_ into the conversation. That's just..." he paused, shuddering in disgust, "gross."

"Gross?" Willow laughed, grinning at him. "Spike, you've killed hundreds, even thousands, of people--" she stopped suddenly, frowning at the realization that what she'd just said was true. Absolutely true. And that wasn't okay with her.

Her boyfriend was a mass murderer.

She sat up straight, moving nonchalantly away from Spike's side, pretending she wasn't running from him. Pretending she was okay, and nothing was wrong, but she could tell that he knew.

He watched her carefully, through hooded eyes, as she wrapped the sheet around herself and stood up. "I won't deny it," he told her angrily, pushing himself to his feet as well. Only with less covers. "I can't deny it, because it's true. All of it, everything. I've killed, I've enjoyed it... and if I had this blasted chip out--" he began, but then he suddenly clammed up, snapping his mouth shut.

"You'd still be killing," she finished for him, hating that he was confirming one of her biggest fears. She nodded slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch him dress. He was so beautiful, and though she knew men didn't like being told that, she had to at least think it.

He was beautiful, and strong, and a killer. Could she live with that? Could she forget that he used to suck the life out of people while they pleaded for help and begged him not to kill them?

She'd killed a man, she knew what it felt like to snuff out someone's life. But she hadn't enjoyed it, and that's where they differed.

Spike paused in the middle of buttoning his jeans. "Yes. If I ever--" he sighed, finishing buttoning his pants as he walked over to her. He looked down into her face, smiled a little as he reached a hand out to touch her hair, playing with the strands absently. "When this chip is gone," he looked away for a second, "if it ever malfunctions?" His eyes returned to hers slowly, a frown playing across his brow. "I'm going to start feeding again. But if you want me to, I can eat junk food."

"Junk food," she echoed, tightening the sheet around her. "Junkies? You mean druggies?" That so wouldn't be okay, it was still wrong.

What if one of them was a father of three? Or a single mother who made some wrong choices? That didn't make it right.

"Not druggies." He dropped his hand to his side, his face tightening in anger at her lack of acceptance to his compromise. "I meant murderers and rapists." Stalking over to his t-shirt, he bent down, grabbing it from the floor to yank over his head. "You told me--" his eyes went wide for a second, then narrowed. His head shook in self-recrimination. "Forget it."

"No." She stood up, feeling like the wronged party in this whole thing. "What did I tell you? We've never talked about this, Spike. Ever. So what could I possibly have told you?"

He shrugged, sliding on his socks and slipping his feet into his boots. "Doesn't matter."

Beg to differ, she thought, walking across the room to stand in front of him. "Yes, it does. The very fact that you kill people for fun is sort of a big turn off for me." She moved past him to her dresser. Yanking the top drawer open, she pawed through her underwear, searching for something to wear. "I know I killed someone too. And I feel-- horrible about it, but it needed to be done." Grabbing a pair of nice, plain, white cotton briefs, she stepped into them and smoothed the sheet back down over her legs. "You, on the other hand, don't kill out of need, you kill for fun." Slamming her drawer shut, she opened the third one down on the right side, pulling out the first nightshirt she happened upon, which happened to be one with a giant cartoon cat on it, winking at whoever saw it.

She slipped it over her head, loosening the sheet from around her chest and letting it fall to the floor. Turning around, she picked it back up and threw it at the bed as she neared it.

Spike was looking at her as if he just couldn't believe his ears. "Hello!" he yelled, "I'm a vampire. I need blood to live. Otherwise?" He held his hands out, mimicking a small explosion. "Poof!"

"Pig's blood," she argued, planting her hands on her hips. Not a favorite position of hers, and one she only used once in a great while, but Spike was aggravating her and she felt it was needed. "You could continue to drink--"

"Swill," he ground out, narrowing his eyes on her. "Would you give up every food you've ever liked to eat one very nasty type of food just to stay alive, Willow?" He sat on the bed to tie his laces, glaring at her as he did so. "Try eating a slice of bread for every meal for the next week and see just how much you like it."

"I could," she bluffed, knowing darn well she'd get sick of it after only a day or two. When he put it that way, using logic and stuff, well, she could see his point. And she didn't like it. She dropped her hands to her sides, exhaling a long breath as she considered the man on her bed. "Is it really that bad?"

He tilted his head at her in disbelief. "What do you think?"

Dropping her eyes to the floor briefly, she sat beside him. "I-- I don't know what to think." She shrugged helplessly, furrowing her brow unhappily. "I can't just say, 'Oh, go on, Spike, go kill, and have fun. Be back by dawn.' It's just... it's not that easy for me to accept."

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice resigned, "I know. I knew before I mentioned it." Turning just his eyes to her, he looked at her curiously. "And if I could kill again? What then?"

She once again lifted her shoulders in a shrug, this one just as helpless as the last one as she folded her hands between her knees. "I-- I don't--" sighing in annoyance at her inability to answer him, she just shook her head, keeping her eyes trained on her thumbs, sticking up from between her knees. "I think it's a good thing we don't have to worry about that right now." Lifting her head to face him as a sudden thought struck her, she swallowed back a groan. "We don't, right?"

He stared back at her, his silence speaking volumes. "I should go. Buffy'll be home soon and I'd prefer not to run into her." He settled his hands on his thighs and pushed himself to his feet. Without turning back to face her, he walked over to the chair at her vanity table and picked up his duster. "I won't be running into her, will I?"

"No," Willow whispered, blinking back tears. She felt like such a hypocrite. What right did she have to judge him when she was just as much of a murderer as he was? Not in quantity, but the one life she'd taken weighed heavily on her soul, despite the necessity of it. How could she possibly be with Spike knowing he was out killing every night?

The creak of leather drew her attention back to him. She watched as he crossed to the window, sliding his arms into the duster as he went. The bottom hem of the leather coat swished back and forth with every step he took. And every step took him further and further away from her.

He slid the window up, turning to her at the last second before climbing onto the rooftop. His eyes softened, the blue of his irises striking her even this far away. "It'd be so easy to --" he closed his eyes with a sigh, shaking his head as he hooked an arm out the window, preparing to leave her.

And with a comment like that! Without even finishing the thought. She jumped up angrily, stalking over to the window. "To what, kill me?" Crossing her arms over her chest, feeling a slight breeze blow through the window and kick up her nightshirt, she frowned at Spike, daring him to confirm her worst fears.

He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head as his eyes ran over her in disappointment. "To fall in love with you," he said flatly, climbing through the window and disappearing into the night.

Willow stared after him, wanting to call out for him to stop, but not daring to. It would be best if he left. She couldn't have any sort of relationship with him, not if his chip was malfunctioning, and it would only hurt to prolong their time together.

But it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to stop. Even knowing he was armed and dangerous. Even knowing he could very well have killed again already. She stayed silent, listening to his fading footsteps crunching along the shingles.

She'd keep an eye out for news from Buffy or other demons to see if he was killing again. But she wouldn't tell anyone. Disapproving of his actions herself was one thing, telling the others, knowing full well they'd go after him to kill him... that wasn't possible.

Because, she'd already begun to fall in love with him, and she wasn't Buffy. She couldn't willingly kill Spike, or be responsible for his death. He was where her happiness lay. A goddess had as much as told her so.


	17. Chapter 17

A single dirty white thread was yanked free of Spike's ugly armchair as he stared at the blank TV, smoking a cigarette and partaking of a little Jack Daniels. His feet were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, one boot on top of the other.

His Willow bot was lying on her stomach on his sarcophagus, reading one of the spell books the real girl had loaned him. Had she known who, or what they were for, odds were, she wouldn't have been so accommodating. She wasn't exactly the type to accept something so... difficult. That, he was learning.

Stretching his arm on the chair arm, he tapped the top of his cigarette, watching the inch-long ash fall to the floor to land softly in the still daytime of his crypt. An occasional page turn from his robot was all that broke up the deathly silence, or a slosh from his bottle.

And one of those sloshes was exactly what he needed right now. Tossing back a good swallow, he swished it around in his mouth before swallowing it down. Dropping his head back, he set the bottle on his thigh, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

Willow, the real Willow, the one he was falling in love with... well, she hated him now, didn't she? He'd seen the disgust and disappointment in her eyes, all over her face as she glared at him. Spitting out her disapproval and throwing him out of her bedroom.

He frowned, thinking back to the night before. That was what happened, wasn't it? His memories were a little bleary, and a lot fuzzy. The hazards of drinking.

"Willow," he called loudly, keeping his eyes on the ceiling, not looking at her cute little butt, or the legs that were showing under her tight jeans. There wasn't even a tiny glance toward her gorgeous face or her luscious red hair.

"Do you want to talk, Spike? I like to talk." She sat up, resting the book in her lap over her crossed legs, watching him expectantly.

He knew only because he'd had to glance her way to rid his eyes of the dust that-- okay, he'd looked. He couldn't help it, she was just so enticing. And sexy. That innocent little smile she tossed him, the way her eyes shined every time she looked his way... it was too much for him. "Talk," he mumbled in consideration before shaking his head. "Eh. Talk is overrated."

She frowned in disappointment, shutting her book quietly. "Oh. Do you... want to have sex then?" She looked a little less enthusiastic, drawing an incredulous look from him.

"Not if it's gonna be a bother," he mumbled, waving his hand dismissively when she started to protest. "Never mind, forget it. I just-- ow!" He dropped his cigarette, which had burned down to the filter, sizzling his fingers as it went. Smashing out the butt with a snarl, he closed his eyes and took another drink, raising his head just enough to keep from spilling it all down his chest.

Willow set her book beside her, carefully, like it was a priceless piece of art, and scooted to the end of the sarcophagus. Her eyes focused curiously on him, her head tilting to the side like a damn robot.

Right, made sense, didn't it?

Before she could open her mouth and ask what he wanted, how she could please him, what she could do, he waved his hand at her. "Tell me..." he frowned thoughtfully, following the cracks in the ceiling with his eyes, chasing the lines down his wall. His mind went blank for a minute, then cleared again, with a question he'd been wondering about for some time now. "Tell me about our first time together."

She kicked her legs out a little, gripping the edge of the coffin with her hands as she considered his question. Her heels thunked on the stone, then swayed back and forth restlessly. "The first time I saw you?"

In the middle of taking another drink, he shook his head, not wisely, and ended up with a bit of the liquor dribbling down his chin. "No." He wiped his chin off with the back of his hand, then wiped his hand on his jeans. "The first time we had sex." His lips quirked up, his eyes lighting with amusement. "The first time we did the deed, got down and dirty, rode the--"

"You don't remember?" she asked, interrupting his thoughtful phrasing. "Are you ill?" She tensed to jump down and join him, but he waved his hand at her again.

"I'm fine. Stay there." She shrugged and nodded, but still looked a little worried. Like she could worry, he thought bitterly. "I just want to hear you tell me."

Would she believe that? It was highly likely, but she shouldn't. It was a pathetically thrown together excuse.

Her whole face seemed to light up at the prospect of telling him a story; her smile returned, her eyes shone, her breasts heaved... okay, that last one wasn't really relevant, but he noticed it.

"Our first time," she said succinctly, like it was the title of a story-- "by Willow Rosenberg."

Spike snorted with laughter, quickly masking the sound with a cough when she looked his way.

A frown furrowed her brow, but she didn't let his laughter stop her. "It was in a warehouse. We--"

"Warehouse," he repeated, nodding at that. It made complete sense. That night he'd kidnaped her was the first time he'd really noticed how biteable she was. "When I kidnaped you."

She shook her head a few times. "Not then. It was before then, Spike. Are you too drunk to remember?"

"Yeah, that," he agreed, latching onto that excuse. "Definitely too drunk to remember." Not to mention it had never happened, but hey, they were her memories, and who was he to say they didn't happen? For her.

She started again, sitting straighter, delivering her story like a teacher at story time. "Back in 1999, when I was a junior in high school, and you were--"

"Wait, wait, wait." He sat forward, capping the empty bottle and setting it on the floor beside him. "That's when I was with Dru. No way I cheated on her." Fixing his eyes on the hem of her black blouse, which rose and fell with each breath she took, exposing an inch and then three inches of flesh at a time, he sighed, wanting her even now when he was griping about Dru. "I never cheated on Dru."

"Of course you did," Willow told him, halting her swaying legs to stare at him. "She was cheating on you. With Angelus."

"Angelus. Bloody... flippin'... Angelus." Closing his eyes with a sigh, he flopped back against the chair. He hated Angelus with every fiber of his being. The vampire was a bastard and a half. "Stupid poofter. Always shoving his-- nose in where it doesn't belong."

Willow nodded in agreement, twisting her lips up in distaste. "Angel is a fem-boy with too much hair gel."

Spike's laughter this time was long and hard, not slowed in the least by Willow's confused smile. Here then was proof that Willow was the one. The one with his happiness wrapped up in her hand, holding it tightly, daring him to make a grab for it.

His laughter died at that. The prospect of never being with Willow again, the Willow that he was falling in love with, was sobering.

"Do you want me to continue, my Blonde God?"

Fighting a smirk, he slid his eyes open with a groan. "Thought I told you not to call me that?" His words slurred just the smallest bit, making him aware of just how drunk he really was.

She nodded eagerly, smiling more widely. Again. Did that smile ever go far? "I thought it might cheer you up."

"It didn't. Just tell me about the sex, Willow." Resting his hands against his stomach, he laced his fingers together, settling more comfortably back against the cushions.

"I was leaving the Bronze one night with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia. You were in the alley, waiting for a meal." She didn't flinch, didn't shrink away from him, just stated the words as if she'd mentioned buying new curtains. "Buffy left us to patrol, and Xander and Cordelia went to make out and argue. You followed me as I passed the warehouses on Birch Street."

That sounded familiar. He faintly remembered leaving the house late one night in a snit, furious with Angelus and Dru for going at it again. Right under his blasted nose, in his bloody house... practically in front of his face. But, no, Angelus preferred doing things behind Spike's back. Playing the innocent while taunting Spike with Dru's obedience and devotion.

After listening to the two of them grunting and groaning in Angelus' bedroom for hours on end, he'd left the house, stomping away. Ditching his wheelchair behind a bush near the house, he'd headed straight for the Bronze, wanting a quick kill. A young meal.

As he approached the back entrance, the door opened, emitting Buffy, Xander, Willow, and Cordelia. They'd chatted as they walked slowly down the alley, paying scant attention to their surroundings. If Buffy had been paying even the littlest bit of attention, she would've noticed him there, but she didn't, which just angered him more.

It was like he was invisible.

He followed them, but not too closely, keeping his distance as the group reached the street, going their separate ways. Buffy headed off to patrol, while Willow and the other two started home. He'd been on the verge of following Buffy, thinking to engage her a bit, but at the last second, he'd gone after the others.

He was still weak, not up to full strength, and it looked like the boy and his girl would be breaking off from Willow pretty soon. She looked tasty.

"Why'd you go home that way, love?" He knew the warehouses weren't anywhere near her house. She lived closer to Buffy and Xander than the business district. There was no reason for her to go through that area, no reason at all.

"I was unhappy," she said softly, stilling her feet on the sarcophagus. "I wanted to think."

An image of Willow's strained face came to him. A strained smile as she waved to Xander and Cordelia. As soon as the two were on their way, her smile slipped, her face fell, and her hand dropped heavily to her side as a sigh left her lips.

But it was her eyes that he'd noticed most. She'd been hurt and betrayed by the two walking away. They didn't realize it and she wasn't doing anything to dispel them of the notion that everything was wonderful.

"I remember that night. Xander and the girl, they flaunted their relationship in front of you, didn't they?" he mumbled, frowning at thoughts that'd gone through his mind. To follow her and kill her. Spill her blood and leave her behind for Xander and Cordelia to find. Let them feel it the most when they saw her lifeless body. Lifeless for a day or so, at least, before she rose up and killed them all.

The images were wonderful, just spectacular as she slashed throats and bit through necks, tearing skin and spilling blood to the ground, leaving her friends behind in broken heaps.

She was a pretty girl, could be a beautiful vampire. He'd thought of following her and having all sorts of ways with her.

But he'd stuck to just following her for the time being.

He followed behind her as she clutched a stake in her hand. As her head looked from side to side nervously. As she hurried through the mostly empty buildings, mostly dead and dark. Followed her as she headed into safer territory.

All the while, not knowing exactly why he was following her.

Her auburn hair, swaying from side to side reminded him of Dru's in the darkness; maybe that was it. It was long, and straight, and so rich and luscious-looking. He quietly crept behind her, matching her footsteps with his own, heard her sigh a few times and mutter to herself when she jumped at benign noises.

Street after street they'd gone down, winding their way through town, back into the heart of Sunnydale. Her stiff posture loosened with each street they went down, her shoulders losing their tension with each corner she turned.

But the sadness that surrounded her remained.

He'd wanted to grab her, pull her back against him as he drained her of blood, fed off of her very essence, but he hadn't. Drusilla had shoved herself back into his mind, and he'd decided not to turn her just yet. He'd give Dru another chance.

He followed Willow back to her dark house, and even then he'd had a chance to get to her, but he'd continued walking, heading to the park to munch on a few teenagers unlucky enough think the park bench was a romantic place to make out.

"Spike?" Willow called, sounding like she'd called to him a few times without answer. This was the real one, not from his memories. No, it was the robotic one.

He cleared his throat, remembering the words he'd intended to have with Dru that night, to show her he was worth waiting for, that he'd always be a stronger and better choice than Angelus, but she wasn't there when he got home that night. And neither was Angelus.

"I remember that night," he mumbled again, focusing more firmly on Willow. But his version seemed to differ from hers a bit since she remembered sex, and he didn't. "Go on," he urged, wanting to find out how she'd given in to him. What exactly it was that had made her have sex with her best friend's mortal enemy.

She nodded thoughtfully, dismissing his inattention for what it was, woolgathering. "I was angry and disgusted with Xander and Cordelia. All they did all night was ogle each other and touch under the table," she said distastefully, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "It was sickening."

"Mm, I can imagine," he chuckled, having seen Xander and Anya do that very thing and more in a room full of people. His friends. Xander's friends, not his. "So you thought you'd take a nice dangerous walk through the warehouse district?" He patted down his pockets before remembering he'd set his cigarettes on the chair arm a while back. Glancing over the side of the chair, he spotted them on the floor. "Not very smart under any circumstances."

Reaching over the arm, he grabbed the pack with a crinkle of plastic and a whiff of nicotine. It was comfortable, familiar. Smelled just as good as the whiskey decorating his shirt and jeans.

He shook one out, slipping it between his lips with a sigh. Felt good to have even this minor comfort with him at all times. Soothes whatever ails ya, he thought, lighting the cigarette and snapping the lighter shut with a metallic clink.

She nodded again, her eyes following his movements. "You're very sexy when you smoke. Like the Marlboro Man, all rugged and handsome. But in a dead way."

Spike grinned at the compliment, acknowledging her words with a regal nod in her direction. "Thanks, love."

"Maybe I should smoke," she muttered, eyeing the pack of cigarettes on his thigh. "Would I be sexy if I smoked, Spike?" Her eyes raised to his face, full of hope and curiosity. "Would vampires want me then?"

"No." And what the hell did she want vampires--other than himself, of course--to want her for in the first place? "You're sexy enough as you are. Finish the story."

She didn't look entirely convinced that he was telling her the truth, but she couldn't find any reason for him to lie. Her eyes, stuck once again on the pack of cigarettes, looked to his before landing on his smoking cigarette. "Oh. You followed me and grabbed me, ignoring all my efforts to stake you." She pouted a little, reminding him too much of the real Willow. "I was overpowered by your strong, muscular arms, and your sexy vampire strength."

"Well, you are just a human," he said kindly. "That was before the witchy powers and all that. So, what'd I do?" His eagerness wasn't being tempered by the fact that none of this had happened. In fact, since there were no consequences, it only served to feed his eagerness. "Toss you down and have at it? The biting, I mean. Not, uh-- not the sex. I'm a bit more generous a lover than that."

"Yes, you are," she agreed, smiling widely at him. But then she came to a conclusion and shook her head, frowning at him. "You don't remember," she accused, jumping down from the coffin and moving closer. "You..." she darted her eyes down sadly, "you forgot our first time?"

Sighing in annoyance, he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, moving his cigarettes seconds before she dropped onto his lap with a protesting squeal.

"I didn't forget, Willow. I just... need a little reminding." That was mostly the truth. How could he forget something that hadn't happened? So, he didn't feel guilty for lying to her this once. Maybe if he'd been less truthful last night, he'd be sober and looking forward to seeing Willow tonight. As it was, he was drunk and begging his robotic lover to tell him stories.

"Okay," she amended quietly, "you did forget the next morning, after all." Her eyes, wide and innocent, shone with laughter. "You shouldn't drink so much. I thought you'd forgotten all about us until the Initiative--"

"Wait, back up. Finish the first time, then get to the next time." How had he gotten involved with this girl in an imaginary world locked in her mind? She was a robot, true, but someone had given her these memories, and if what Willow said last night was true, or even possibly true, all the blame could lie at Diana's feet.

Not blame exactly, he amended, sliding his hand down Willow's back. More like credit, for his good fortune.

She sat with her back resting on the chair arm, hooking her legs over the other arm, letting them dangle down. "You pushed me inside and shoved me down on the floor. You were drunk," she confided, settling further down on his lap.

"Quite the usual occurrence of late," he told her, laying his hand across her stomach as she talked, feeling her warm skin shift and move beneath his hand. It was very unusual watching it move in and out, and shift and adjust as she talked and moved. The flesh--fake flesh--was so like human skin that he'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference. He listened to her as she told him about things that he'd said and done, actions he'd taken. Things he'd possibly done in an alternate universe.

A universe in which he'd decided to grab her rather than follow her home. If he'd grabbed her like he wanted to, would he right now be with the real Willow? Be loved by her? It was entirely possible that she'd be a vampire. Would she hate him as Dru sometimes did, because he felt too much?

"So, I paced and ranted and railed?" he said huffily, rolling his eyes at himself. "How'd the sex come about? I'd think you'd be scared." She damn well better have been afraid of him. He was the Big Bad back then, maybe not anymore, but certainly he was back then. "You should've been running at the first opportunity."

"I tried, twice. But you caught me and threw me up against the door. The second time, you kissed me." Her eyes widened, her head turning to him. "I was confused, but you said that you wanted me--"

"Always," he agreed, threading his hand with hers over her stomach.

"--and that I was beautiful--" she continued, holding their clasped hands up for a second.

"Very much so," he told her, nodding. Sounds like something he'd tell her to get into her pants. But he was a bit shocked that it worked so easily on her.

She smiled softly. "Thank you. You're beautiful too." Her unclasped hand raised up, cupping his cheek briefly. "I find myself attracted to you, but I also feel compelled to fight the attraction. You're evil, but-- that excites me, and terrifies me... I try so hard to resist you and I can't."

"Yeah?" He grinned at her as he took her hand and kissed the palm, his eyes lighting with amusement.

She pretended to frown, pouting with a half-smile. "Darn your sinister attraction."

Though she was teasing, and her mood was light, he had to wonder. "Are you afraid of me?" His frown and concerned look went unnoticed by her.

She thought about her answer for a second, then grinned widely. "Yes."

Well, that didn't make him feel better. Back then she should've been afraid. Now, he didn't want her to be. He wanted her to want him and love him, not be afraid that he'd someday kill her and her friends. Robot, he reminded himself, she's just a robot.

He slid his hand against her stomach, feeling the small ripples of flesh and muscle beneath his palm and fingers. She felt so real it was sometimes hard to remember that she wasn't.

"You know I can't--" that was a lie. It was going to take some time getting used to having his bite back again. "Uh, won't bite you," he finished quietly, his face serious.

"I think you would," she disagreed, not looking too upset about it. "I think you would if I let you, and I want to let you. I want you to bite me and devour me until there's no more, but I'm afraid."

"If I bit you," he told her, tightening his fingers around hers, "it'd be a love bite." He leaned forward, nipping lightly at the flesh of her neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to make her squirm in his lap. "Like this," he mumbled, moving a little lower.

She smiled and sighed, tilting her head back. "Oh, Spike, I want you to devour me--" she moved away quickly, frowning down at him. "In a non-death kind of way. Um, with human teeth... no eating. Just, nibbling."

"That's the only kind I'd be doing, love, but maybe a little later. Tell me more." He wasn't sure why he was so focused on finding out the details of their imaginary sex encounter, but he was. Almost as if it was important to his future with the real girl. "I seduced you right off the bat, huh? Talked sweet and had you melting in my arms?"

His grin widened when she rolled her eyes at him. So like Willow.

"I wasn't immediately charmed by you," she said with a scoff. "You were drunk and angry. And a vampire. I thought you were going to kill me." Her forehead furrowed, her mouth dipping down in a frown, her voice becoming lower, almost a whisper. "When you said you wanted me, and that I was beautiful, I thought you were going to rape me."

Now it was his turn to scoff. "I'm not a rapist, Willow."

She nodded, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. "I know. But I didn't know that then. You were kissing me, and your breath smelled like alcohol, and I was scared to death."

Okay, that was better. And here he'd thought she'd fallen into bed with him without a second thought. His charms were plentiful, but not that plentiful. "Okay, assuming I don't know what happened next," he bluffed, shifting them so that she was lying with her head against his shoulder, "tell me what happened."

"I shoved you away from me when you kissed me. But, I also felt a little attracted to you." She lifted her head from his shoulder, smiling at him. "You're gorgeous. And I was a naive little girl, unschooled in the ways of love and sex. You swept me off my feet--"

"Oh, god," he mumbled, resting his forehead against her silky-soft hair, "just tell me I didn't quote poetry to you. Or worse yet, that I didn't write my own poetry for you." That'd be bad, so very bad. Poetry and him did not go together. He sucked at it, with a vengeance.

She shook her head, dislodging his cheek from the top of her head. "Of course you didn't," she confirmed, and then repeated, "You swept me off of my feet."

"Uh, yeah, okay... meaning?" he prompted. "Remember, I've never heard this story before."

She sat up, staring at him in puzzlement. "You picked me up and carried me over to a crate and set me down on it. Is this a game?"

"Yes. It's a game. I like hearing you talk about it." His bluff was working again, but he was starting to feel guilty now. She trusted him wholly and completely, and he was lying to her like a cheap rug. But she wasn't real. She was a blasted robot. The real woman was at Buffy's house, staying away from him, and possibly giving him up to her friends.

Again, he tuned in Willow, listening in amusement as she told him about kissing and touching, groping hands and pacing, griping and bitching about Angelus and Dru, complaining and sniping about Xander and Cordelia.

Not to mention the sex that was had. Quickly and without a lot of tenderness and romance. Just a ripping off of clothes--clothes that were in the way, not unnecessary clothes--and a melding of bodies.

Hurried kissing, drunken groping, whispered words of encouragement and desperation. And then he fell asleep on top of her, passed out drunk.

At least they'd both gotten some pleasure before he embarrassed himself.

She'd fallen asleep beside him eventually, afraid to leave and walk home on her own with her ripped clothing and partially bleeding breast.

"Wait, what?" he interrupted, pulling back a little to stare at her. "I bit you? Where's the mark?" That should've given him away, told her that he had no clue about any of this, but she simply lowered the collar of her shirt and showed him the top of her left breast. Which was smooth and unmarked. She looked down at it with a small smile, apparently unaware that there was no mark there.

"When you woke up, you forgot what happened." She sighed when he reached out to touch the smooth flesh of her breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the pale skin. "I told you that you bit me, and that was it. I was afraid to tell you the rest."

He nodded, understanding her reluctance to tell him he'd cheated on Dru the night before. "But, I knew. I could smell it on you. On me."

"You could?" she asked in surprise, pushing off of his lap to look at him. "You never told me that. I thought-- you never said anything, you just let me believe you forgot. I thought I was safe."

"Safe," he echoed, wondering what in bloody hell she'd been afraid of after sleeping with him. Then he remembered that she'd only really known him then as the ruthless killer of two slayers, someone without mercy. No wonder she'd been terrified. "Sorry, love."

"And when you kidnaped me for the spell to do on Drusilla--" she began, huffing a little, crossing her arms over her chest, "that hurt." Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes dropping to the floor. "You were drunk again. And I thought you were going to kill me because of what happened. You were so angry and hurt by Drusilla cheating on you, I just thought-- I thought you wanted to kill me so you could forget about sleeping with me."

Spike was getting a little confused. Robots were much more trouble than they were worth. He had two women, the same woman really, upset and angry with him. Both were too much. He needed to stick to one, or the other. And at the moment, he wasn't exactly sure which one he preferred.

No, that was a lie. He wanted the real one. The robotic one was just easier to handle.

"Sorry," he said again, not sure what else to say. "I was evil then. Well, no, I still am, I just disliked humans more then."

"Well, you could've let me know you remembered," she hmphed, dropping her hands to her sides. "When you kissed me then, I thought you did remember. And now, I know you did, but you pretended not to."

Spike fought a groan, but couldn't stop himself from dropping his head back onto the chair with a roll of his eyes. He was a bloody idiot in this imaginary world of hers. All that time he'd wasted, traipsing after Dru when he could've taken Willow with him and turned her. Been with her all this time. And then the Buffy thing. God, Harmony was possibly the worst part of it all.

Sex went a long way, but when the body you're having sex with can't keep its mouth shut, it gets old. Real quick. It was always, 'buy me this' and 'steal me that' not to mention her all-time favorite, 'take me to Italy, and Paris, oh, and that one place with the big clock that's named after someone called Ben... whoever he is.'

All that time he could've been with Willow. Damn.

"When I kissed you... again," he said slowly, "uh... I pretended not to remember because I didn't think you wanted to remember?" That it ended as a question of uncertainty probably wasn't the best way to explain himself. But it was all he had at the moment, he was flying by the seat of his pants.

"That's what you keep saying," she sighed, sounding irritated, like they'd had this conversation a few times before. "And I keep saying that you should've said something. The second time we... had sex, that's all it was, just like the first time. Sex."

"We had sex..." he inhaled, raising his head to look at her, "when I kidnaped you. In front of Xander." It was possible he was going to be sick. Vampires didn't get sick though. So what was this nauseous feeling swimming around in his stomach?

"Uh, no," she scoffed, shaking her head with a frown. "You left Xander at the school. Are you... sure you haven't forgotten all this? For real this time?"

"I did," he told her, sighing in defeat. "I forgot all of it. I think it's a spell." That was sure to save him from her anger and hurt, wasn't it? Warming up to his story, he sat forward, nodding eagerly. "Yeah, a big spell. Someone made me forget about us. Someone-- a demon probably, yeah, a big demon, doing a big spell against me."

She walked over to her spell book, picking it up like it was an ancient tome of powerful magick and priceless wisdom. "Is that all that's been affected? Your memories of us?" She flipped the book open, all business now, turning page after page in search of answers. "I may need some ingredients," she mumbled, smiling at him as she paced away, completely engrossed in her research. "I'll make a list-- oh!"

"What?" He frowned, standing up quickly, hoping she hadn't found a spell she wanted to do on him. But her eyes were wide on him, not the book.

"That's why you won't let me leave. You think Buffy--" she frowned, tilting her head to the side in puzzlement. "What do you think Buffy will do? She's okay with us. Not jumping up and down in excitement, but she promised not to dust you or interfere in our lives."

"She did?" he asked skeptically, forgetting for a minute that this wasn't real. Her memories weren't real. None of this had happened. Bloody hell. "Yeah," he agreed, shoving his hands through his hair angrily. "Yeah, that's exactly it. I was afraid for you, baby." Sighing, he turned away, stalking restlessly across the crypt.

"Thank you," she mumbled, walking across the crypt to peck his cheek before hopping on the sarcophagus. She didn't use a hand to brace herself as she hopped up, just... jumped up there. It was weird to see, but not as weird as her flipping through her book trying to find a counter-spell to get rid of the nonexistent spell a nonexistent demon put on him.

A few minutes went by, with him pacing, trying to figure out a way to tell her he'd lied. That there was no spell on him, and maybe even let her know that she was a robot, but he chickened out. He couldn't make himself tell her something that would inevitably cause her to become upset.

Maybe even cry. Did robots cry?

She sat straight on the coffin, quickly reading through each book, searching for a spell, any spell, to help the man she loved.

He sighed for the thirtieth time in ten minutes. Bloody hell.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching the crypt, crunching noisily on the leaves and twigs outside. He rushed over to the trapdoor, yanking it up. "Willow, you have to go downstairs. Someone's coming."

She looked up, unconcerned. "Maybe it's Buffy. I told you she's okay--"

"No, Willow. She's not. I've talked to her recently, and there's something wrong with her too." Thinking quickly, he added more lies to the ones he'd already heaped on Willow, hoping she bought them in the short time he had left to convince her. Whoever was coming, they were almost to the crypt.

Not bothering to argue the point, he rushed to the coffin, grabbed Willow, ignoring her protests, and pushed her toward the trapdoor. "Just go, we'll talk about it later. I don't want her to hurt you, and with her--and everyone else's--memories skewed... it's possible she's forgotten you're friends."

Willow looked about ready to protest, but just nodded, and climbed down the ladder, clutching her books to her chest as she went. "I'll stay here until--"

"Willow, listen to me." He bent down, fitting the trapdoor partially into place, holding it open as he peered into the darkness.

She stepped off the ladder and turned to look up at him. "How long do I--"

"You will not leave there until I say it's okay. Got that? No matter how long it takes."

More protesting was on the tip of her tongue, she even opened her mouth, but he shook his head with a glance at the door, which flew open, smacking against the wall before swinging back to close. A hand stopped its momentum, halting the door as he dropped the trapdoor back into place and stood up.

Bloody hell.

"Uh, excuse me," he said angrily, stalking over to the door, glaring at the figure standing there. "What do you want?" Fury roiled through him, but a little fear as well. There was a calmness in the eyes following his progress across the crypt.

"You," the figure said softly, shooting a fist out. It caught him in the jaw, throwing him back a few feet. Luck was the only thing that gave his attacker the upper hand. He landed on the stone floor with a thump, and his head snapped backward, smacking the corner of the stone sarcophagus and knocking him out.


	18. Chapter 18

Sunshine shone down through tree limbs, dappling the sidewalks and streets as Willow made her way to the Magic Box. The usual daytime noises of the town were swirling around in the air. The laughter and loud voices of people walking by her were drowned out by cars driving down the street. Exhaust floated up, increasing that huge hole in the ozone, but over that were the smells of cinnamon buns and coffee from the Espresso Pump across the street.

It was a day of warmth and beauty, but there was no song in Willow's heart, no happy smile on her face. If anyone were to look too closely at her eyes, they'd see that they reflected sadness, not sunlight.

But her eyes stayed fixed on the cracked sidewalks, and the occasional piece of trash that littered the gutters, not allowing anyone to look into her eyes, had they wanted to. Most of the people passing by didn't try, though, because she was giving off vibes that didn't invite conversation, or even a casual look in her direction.

Her lips were turned down in a frown, her shoulders slumped. Every step she took brought her closer to the Magic Box, closer to her friends and people who loved her, but it also took her farther away from the man she'd fallen in love with.

His crypt was way across town, hidden in a cemetery, stashed away almost as an afterthought. Trees crowded the small marble structure, shielding it with a canopy of leaves that covered it in darkness, even in the daytime.

It was dank, and dark, and inhabited by dead things, and it was where she wanted to be.

Sighing heavily, enough to heave her shoulders straight and then droop back down again, she stopped in front of the Magic Box. Her eyes drifted across the street, the scents drawing her attention to the Espresso Pump. The sticky buns smelled good. Heavenly. It'd been a long time since she'd had one. At least a month.

And coffee. She could definitely use some coffee. Dealing with her friends, much as she loved them, was sometimes hard, even in the best of times. And this was definitely not the best of times, it was kind of the almost-worst of times. Not quite, but close. At least there wasn't an apocalypse, too.

Tossing a quick look over her shoulder, into the window of the Magic Box, she watched the occupants inside for a few seconds.

Anya was inside with Giles; both were bustling behind the counter, attending to customers. Xander was at the table, watching Anya with somber eyes. He was acting strange lately, but, she couldn't explain exactly what it was. It was more a feeling than anything definite she could put her finger on.

He shifted in his seat, staring straight ahead... looking uncharacteristically silent and contemplative.

Buffy was nowhere in sight. Probably in the training room, working out her aggressions on the punching bag.

She turned away with a sigh, heading across the street.

The coffee shop was empty, but for the single employee behind the counter. He looked bored as he leaned against the wall on the far side of the counter. When she walked up to the cash register, he tipped his cap back and straightened up, dropping his white rag to the counter as he joined her.

"Can I help you?" he asked, leaning forward on the counter to gaze up at her in a friendly manner. He glanced behind him quickly, probably making sure no fellow employees were near enough to chastise him for chatting with a customer. Using both hands, he tucked his longer-than-Xander's hair behind his ears, and flashed her a wide, handsome smile that was welcoming and friendly, meant to charm and invite conversation.

Willow didn't feel like making conversation. She didn't even feel like being there, what she wanted was to stay at home, in her bedroom, possibly even in her bed, and brood about the horrible luck she had with love.

Stupid deities showing her a small bit of happiness with Spike and then yanking it away.

But, that wasn't this guy's problem. He hadn't done anything to her, and he didn't deserve her anger or annoyance. So, she chose to ignore the gleaming white teeth framed by swarthy skin and dark brown eyes. The strong chin and wavy black hair. The handsome face and flirting look he was tossing her way.

"Um, yeah, I'll take..." better get enough for everyone, "a dozen sticky buns, two with cinnamon please." She paused, waiting for him to push off of the counter and ring up the purchase.

He did so slowly, running his eyes over her as if she was a tasty treat as he straightened up and pressed a few buttons, making the register beep electronically, like it was chiding him for being so inappropriate. His eyes were apparently lazy though, because they stuck somewhere near the vicinity of her chest, where the swell of her breasts was visible at the bodice of her red blouse.

He quirked his lips up in a devastatingly handsome smile. "Anything else?"

She almost clapped when his eyes managed to move higher, but halted her enthusiastic mental applause when they lowered again, ostensibly to the register.

She rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. "Um, three coffees. Two black, one vanilla." Buffy constantly told them that she needed the extra sugar to stay up late, and hype herself during patrol, but they all knew the truth: Buffy was a frou-frou coffee drinker.

Mr. Stares-A-Lot rang up the rest of the order and reluctantly turned away to fill it.

Relieved to be free of the weight of his stare, she turned around and leaned back against the counter, looking around the shop which wasn't as empty as she'd thought it was.

A girl giggled, followed closely by a male chuckle. She tried not to listen. After all, she wasn't happy, so she didn't want to see anyone else happy. Not that she begrudged them their happiness... but, she just didn't want to see it.

A pang of hurt went through her, seeing the couple interact with each other. They sat at a table in the back of the room, out of view of anyone who casually glanced around the place, holding hands, smiling and stealing glances at each other. The boy--a cute blonde with wire-rimmed glasses--leaned forward to brush a fan of black hair from the girl's face. She ducked her head to the coffee cup in front of her, blushing faintly as she stole another glance at her male companion.

Willow sighed, watching them with a hurting heart. It wasn't fair. She never got to be happy with her lovers. They left her, or lost their happiness when with her, or were evil vampires with suddenly-malfunctioning chips in their heads.

She was pretty sure this gave her a one-up on the saddest love-life scale.

Reigning queen and champion, Willow Rosenberg.

"Miss," the staring-guy called, trying to gain her attention.

Must be feeling deprived of some quality chest-ogling. She turned with a smile, forcing herself not to give him the 'gay now' speech. Resisted snarling at the guy and giving him a chest of his own to stare at.

None of those things would serve to relieve her heartache.

Besides, she was magick-less at the moment. At least, she thought she was. And she didn't really want to use it on this guy even if she did have some left.

Her coffee and sticky buns were wrapped up, bagged, and ready to go, sitting on the counter in a plain white bag stuffed so full it was barely rolled closed at the top. The sides of the bag were bulging with sticky sweet goodness. With cinnamon.

Yum.

She dug into her jean pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, handed it to the ogler, and waited patiently while he made change.

His hand placed the dollars in her hand, dropping the change with extra touching involved.

"Hey," he called as she grabbed the cardboard coffee holder in one hand and the bag in the other and began to turn away.

She stopped, turning back to him with a questioning look. "Yes?"

"Forgot this." He held his hand up, waving her receipt a few times, his eyes inviting her to come closer.

She really didn't want to go back for it, but she also didn't want to be blatantly rude. "Oh, sorry." She juggled the bag of buns into the hand already holding the coffee and held her hand out, nearly dropping the money to the counter.

"Whoops," he purred, his smile growing as he caught her hand and straightened it, holding it still. He slowly placed the receipt on top of the bills, his eyes on hers the whole time. "Careful there."

"Thanks," she mumbled, trying to pull free, but his hand stayed hers, cupping the back of it as he trailed a finger down the inside of her wrist, trailing up the side of her arm. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, not really used to dealing with flirty men. Or women for that matter. It just didn't happen to her often. Pulling on her arm again, not really enjoying the touch of his warm fingers encircling her wrist, or the tightening of his other hand under hers, she prayed he wouldn't make her do something to draw attention to them. "I-- I gotta go. Thanks," she repeated, smiling a strained smile.

"You know," he said softly, his eyes dropping to the finger once again trailing down the inside of her arm, raising goose bumps in its wake, "there's a party tonight on campus. At Lowell House--"

"Ah," she said, still trying her best not to be rude and mean, though she just wanted free now. "No, thanks, really. Um, some other time maybe. I've--"

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, the tips of his fingernails digging into her skin, his smile tightening more than his hand. "Come on," he cajoled, his eyes hardening at her continued resistance to his so called charms. "I can guarantee a good time."

"Really, thanks, but no." Her voice was firm, her eyes filled with coolness as she jerked her arm free. His eyes narrowed on her, his lips twisting into a sneer as he pushed away from the counter.

"Yeah, fine," he said snidely, crossing his arms over his chest. "Try and take pity on a girl..." he shrugged, turning away to fiddle with the cups and napkins.

She shoved the money and receipt in her back pocket and lifted her eyes to the kid behind the counter. Stupid jerk. "Ya know, the parties at Lowell House always seem to end in death or other badness..." she grabbed her bag tighter to her and shrugged thoughtfully. "You should definitely go."

She turned away from him as he spun around and glared at her, even more tempted now to give him boobs--it'd serve him right--and left the open café, sparing no more looks at the happy couple in the back.

Pausing on the curb, she waited for a car to pass by, spitting out its fair share of exhaust as it pounded and boomed with more speakers than a vehicle needed. She rolled her eyes and crossed the street, heading toward the Magic Box as the sounds faded to a steady boom-boom.

Her mood had gone from bad to worse and she was rethinking her decision to leave the house at all. Probably should've stayed in bed and pulled the covers over her head.

But, that solved nothing and she had stuff that needed... if not solving, then discussing. As she entered the store, she plastered a happy smile on her face.

No time like the present to sit Buffy down and explain things to her. Most likely without the chip coming into the conversation. It was bad enough that she'd ignored Buffy's advice to stay away from Spike, ignored her concern, and gone ahead and done whatever she wanted, not stopping to think how it might affect others.

Others being her friends. They certainly didn't have a say in who she dated, normally, but this was different. This time there was a danger involved. And hadn't that danger been realized?

The bell above the door tinkled madly, alerting anyone within a twenty decibel radius to her presence. Anya sighed when she saw her, but Giles, behind the counter with Anya, smiled a welcome. The smile faded briefly into a concerned look.

"Willow. What are you doing here?" He skirted around the counter, coming to join her halfway across the shop floor. "Are you feeling better then?"

She didn't have to fake the smile that immediately came to her lips at his mothering--strike that, let's call it fathering--attitude. Like a father hen, he was. All concerned and gentle as he led her over to the table.

Xander jumped up to help... by taking the bag and the cardboard coffee holder from her. "Let me get that for ya," he said with a grin, scooping the stuffed bag from her with a big whiff, holding it up to his face. "Oh, that's the stuff, just what's needed for a long night of research. Or whatever happens to come up," he added enigmatically.

"Thanks, Xander, such a help," she laughed, watching as he dropped the bag with an almost reverent look and set the coffee down on the table. "And, yes, Giles, I actually feel really good today, gotta be the salve." And the person applying said salve, she thought with a sigh. "You should sell it here."

Anya sighed and hefted a large cardboard box onto the counter as they approached. She dropped it down with a whoomp. Dust kicked up around her, soaring into the air in billowing brown clouds, reminding Willow of Pigpen. "He is selling it here," she said, her voice filled with irritation. "And it's heavy."

Xander sighed explosively and spun around on his heel, glaring at Anya. "Ahn, stop complaining," he bit out, shaking his head in annoyance. "I swear that's all you know how to do."

The three people in the room who weren't Xander stared at his back as he turned to the table and began unwrapping the sticky buns.

Willow made her way over to Xander as Giles headed back behind the counter to help a huffy Anya unpack the jars of familiar-looking salve.

"Hey," she said quietly, darting a look behind her at Anya's glaring face. "That, uh... that was kind of harsh, don't you think?" She grabbed the frou-frou coffee, so marked by a grease pen, and lifted it from its cardboard cage.

Xander sighed again, with less force this time, and released the bag. "I know, but it's all I seem to be able to do lately." He glanced at her, looking sheepish. "I think I'm turning in to my dad."

"I noticed the resemblance," Willow told him, freeing the other coffee cups and crushing the cardboard holder. "Are you and Anya fighting?"

"No," he said helplessly, "that's just it. Aside from when she complains, we're okay. Good to go. Not a problem between us." He pulled out one of the wooden chairs and sat on it, looking like somebody had just killed his puppy. "But, I'm scared, Will."

She lifted her arm carefully, happy to feel no pain in her back, and slipped it around his shoulders, hugging him to her. "It's probably just the stress of-- well, everything. We're all due a little steam-blowing. Don't worry about it."

Giles, carrying an arm-load of books, moved past them, heading up the ladder to the upstairs.

"Buffy around?" she asked, lifting the coffee she'd gotten for Buffy in one hand, and a sticky bun encased in wax paper, in the other.

Giles' foot halted on the first step of the ladder and he turned around. His books tilted to the side, the top one sliding off to slam on the floor with a loud whap! Willow jumped, startled by the noise.

"I'll get her," Giles said, bending quickly to pick the book up. As he went down, the other books started to slide off as well. Giles slapped his hand on the top one, and lifted them, shoving them onto the table with one hand while grabbing the lone book on the floor with his other hand. He stood up, shoving that one on the table beside the others, leaving it where it slid into a sticky bun.

That he didn't immediately yank the beloved book away from the sticky bun had Willow's eyes widening. When he darted toward the training room with a hurried step, she resorted to raising her eyebrows as well.

She knew this behavior. Hadn't she just chastised them for it the other day for keeping her out of the loop about the Wickaninnish? Turning to Xander, she watched him purposely stuff a ripped off piece of bun into his mouth so that he couldn't talk.

"Sorry," he mumbled around the mouthful, shrugging innocently with wide, overly exaggerated movements.

"Anya?" she enquired, knowing Anya wouldn't hold back if she knew anything, not with the angry eyes she kept sending Xander's way.

Anya pushed her hair behind her shoulder with a huff, planting one hand on her hip as she stretched her other arm out to the counter. There was a ton of attitude in her look and her pose. "What do I care?" she asked, narrowing her eyes on Xander. "Buffy's--"

A fist slammed down on the table, forcing Willow to jump yet again. She turned to Xander with a frown, ready to roll her eyes at him and tell him to be quiet, but the look on his face had her staring at him in surprise.

He was furious. Standing up, he shoved his chair back, sending it flying back to slam against the wall of the counter. His hands were planted on the table and he used them to shove himself to his feet. The mouthful of sticky bun was gone, and the light, teasing mood he'd started to fall into was nowhere in sight.

"Anya!" he bit out, scowling as he turned to his girlfriend. "Why can't you just shut the hell up?" He stalked over to the counter, glaring at Anya, who was glaring right back.

She wasn't about to back down, and neither was he. They were at a standstill.

Willow drew in a breath, wondering what in heck was wrong with everyone. Giles was being twitch-y, Xander was yelling, something he hardly ever did, and-- well, Anya was her normal, usual self.

"Hey," she called loudly, grabbing everyone's attention, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," Giles said, entering the room with Buffy directly behind him. "Nothing is going on, we're just... on edge with the Wickaninnish still out there. Another witch was killed last night, and two women--um, clerks at the grocery store--were killed by... a vampire."

Buffy stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb for a second. Her faded blue jeans and simple blue top with long sleeves gave her a stern, solemn look. The stake dangling from the fingers of her right hand, underneath her crossed arms, completed that picture. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail which swung from side to side as she entered the room and hopped on the counter.

"Needed me?" she asked, all attentive and curious looking. "I gotta go pick up Dawn from school soon, but I've got a few minutes."

Willow glanced down at her own jeans, also faded blue, and the maroon top she'd slipped on because of its loose qualities, and wondered how Spike saw them. One blonde, one red-haired. One short, one... not tall really, but of medium height. One physically strong and skillfully capable, the other mentally strong and magickally capable.

Slayer and witch. Polar opposites, working for the same side. Best friends.

And said best friend was staring at Willow expectantly, waiting for a response.

Willow started forward, motioning toward the training room. "Can we talk? I was thinking about some things, uh, last night, and--"

Buffy jumped down from the counter, her boots clunking dully on the stone floor. Her hand shot out, grabbing Willow's arm, holding her still. "Sure, let's talk," she said cheerfully. "Right here, at the table-- ooo, sticky buns." She grabbed one, and checked the coffee cups for one marked with a grease pen.

"Um, a-- actually, I sort of wanted to talk to you alone. Without, you know," she looked around pointedly, "others. It's private." Her apologetic smile took the sting out of her words, she hoped. Judging by all the criss-crossed looks at each other though, she tended to think not.

Xander shrugged, turning away from Anya with one more glare aimed her way, and started toward the training room. "We can go, you two can stay. Chat." He gestured to Willow and Buffy and then the table. "We'll just..." he pointed behind him, into the training room, "be in there. Come on, Giles," he called jovially. His eyes strayed past Giles to Anya, and they narrowed when she opened her mouth to protest. "Come. On."

His tone brooked no argument, but Willow made one anyway.

Something was going on in the training room, something they didn't want her to see. Why else wouldn't they let her go in there? Why else was Buffy dragging her away by the sleeve of her blouse?

"Um, no, that's okay, guys," she said in puzzlement, glancing from one to the other as they shifted and tried to look innocent. Of what? she wondered. "I think it'd be easier--"

Buffy tugged her sleeve again, smiling and tipping her head toward the front door. "I need some air, it's stuffy in there. Let's go out front."

In the silence that fell as Willow considered running past them all to see what was in the back room, she heard the distinctive sound of chair legs scraping on stone. Her eyes widened. Someone was back there? The Wickaninnish maybe? Did they think she couldn't handle seeing the witch killer without going evil and retaliating, or was someone else back there?

"No," she said slowly, shaking her head and freeing her arm from Buffy's fingers. "In here is good. Better yet is in there." She pointed toward the training room, backing a step away as Buffy reached out to grab her sleeve again. She kept her eyes on Xander, who looked like he was about to tackle her. Giles sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily.

Buffy's smile left altogether and she shook her head. "No. We're not going in there." She set her sticky bun down and wiped her hands on her jeans. "Willow, I started thinking last night and I realized that--"

Willow dashed toward the door, circling around the table, her heart starting to pound in dread. She heard Buffy yell her name behind her, felt Buffy's hand close over her wrist, but she couldn't stop. Images of Tara, her body bled dry by a vampire, or burned and singed from the Wickaninnish, flitted through her mind. She could almost see the long blonde of her hair matted down with blood, her face pale and drawn. Burned and singed. Oh, god.

Yanking her arm from Buffy's grasp, she ran into the room, coming to a dead halt when she saw the room's sole occupant.

Her friends piled through the door behind her, and if she'd been in a different mood, rather than the stunned one she was in now, there was a chance she'd be laughing at the way they all came to a stop, halting in their tracks, practically falling all over one another.

However, all her attention was on the single, high-backed wooden chair across the room. A chair that would look normal at any kitchen or dining room table. A chair that didn't look normal with the person currently occupying it. With handcuffs.

Spike's eyes raised to hers, but there wasn't an ounce of softness in the blue-gray orbs, no softening on his face. That same face that'd shown her so much kindness and gentleness a few nights ago. Those lips that she'd kissed, bitten, felt between her legs, bringing her to orgasm with expertise... right now, they were twisted up in a sneer of hatred.

"What--" she began, looking back to Buffy, the king of them all. She glanced over her shoulder at Spike, disbelief plain on her face, and in her inability to get out another word in the rush that were trying to shove their way into her brain.

His head was bleeding, blood dripped down the left side of his face from a nasty wound on his temple. His eye was swollen and bruised, his cheek raw and red like it'd been scraped against something rough. The blonde hair that she realized she really liked, liked to touch, to look at, to smell, that beautiful hair of his was covered in blood.

His arms were behind him, tied, or handcuffed to the chair back. His ankles were handcuffed one to each chair leg. Dried blood covered his black t-shirt, his neck, and-- god, he looked like he'd been beaten nearly to death.

She headed toward him, fully intending to release him, ignoring the scornful look he tossed her for the brief second that his eyes landed on her. "What the hell did you do to him? What'd you do, take turns beating him?" She knelt down by his feet, running her fingers over the cold metal holding his legs to the chair, rattling the handcuffs, which sounded overly loud as they clunked against the wooden chair leg.

"Leave him," Buffy told her, striding over to them. Her hand gently fisted in Willow's blouse; the warm, thin fingers of her hand twisting in the material, hauling her to her feet. There was no force behind the move, and no rough-handling, but it still startled Willow.

A common occurrence today.

Spike's voice, muffled through the huge white cloth stuffed in his mouth, sounded furious. She was sure he spat out more than a few insults and cuss words. Toward her, or the others? Was his hatred for the others tossing her into the mix as well?

Looking down at him, she shook out of Buffy's grip, yanking the cloth from his mouth.

His eyes, even the swollen one, showed the smallest bit of relief, but that was all he gave away. Impassiveness clouded his features and he closed his mouth, shifting his jaw a few times, staring straight ahead. He looked at the wall rather than have to look at any of them. Rather than having to look at her.

Another twinge of pain slipped through her heart, like an icepick being slowly shoved inside. He hated her now. He was blaming her along with the rest of them.

"Why is he tied to a chair again?" she asked angrily, turning to fume at the others when all she wanted to do was wail at the unfairness of everything. When she found a little happiness, something happened to take it away, every damn time. Never mind that she'd already been miserable from their--whatever had happened the other night. This was different. This was outside interference. "Buffy, you have no right to interfere--"

"I have every right," Buffy ground out, pulling her away. She dragged Willow across the room by her arm, ignoring Spike's furious glare aimed her way, easily visible even through the blood. She shoved Willow near Xander, who looked away from her accusing stare. Giles didn't; he stared her down with Buffy.

"I'm very--" Giles began, looking long-winded and lecture-happy.

Willow sighed, rolling her eyes at the whole lot of them. "--disappointed in me, I know." She crossed her arms over her chest, glancing at Spike over Buffy's shoulder. His poor face looked so painful, she hoped it didn't hurt too bad. "But, I've decided that, believe it or not, it's none of your business. Any of you."

She saw Spike's eyes widen in surprise before going back to being blank again, but she knew. Knew he approved of her sudden backbone. Sticking up for her man. Go her.

"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Willow," Giles sighed, dropping his overbearing lecturing posture for a more fatherly stance. "He--"

"Is a vampire," Willow interrupted, knowing exactly what he was going to say. What they'd all say, because she herself had said the same exact thing to Buffy when they found out about Angel being a vampire. And to herself when she realized she felt something for Spike. But, it didn't matter to her. So, it was none of their business.

She paced around behind Buffy, standing a little away from them as she moved back and forth before them.

"Willow," Xander said forcefully, "listen to them. This isn't just a bad boyfriend that we don't like. This is a vampire who kills people."

"Oh, that's original," Spike snorted, sneering at them. "Think she doesn't know that? Think it never crossed her mind?" He shifted in the chair, snarling and jerking against the bonds when he couldn't move enough to get comfortable. The chair legs scraped against the floor, the same noise Willow had heard earlier. He turned his angry glare back to them. "She knows, you bloody twits."

Willow exhaled slowly, warning Spike to keep quiet, because he wasn't getting anywhere but closer to dead with his insults. "Guys," she sighed, pushing her hands through her hair. "He's right, I do know. And--"

"And nothing." Buffy strode over to Willow, staring into her face, her mouth tightening, her jaw clenching. "Two checkout girls were killed at the grocery store a few days ago. The police are looking for a bleach blonde male, about five-ten, dark clothes..." she paused, drawing out the rest of her description slowly, making sure every word cut into Willow's heart. "Long. Black. Coat." She spun away, throwing her arm out to proudly display Spike in all his glory. "Sound like anyone we know?"

Willow couldn't believe it was Spike. He-- yes, she could. And, she did. The chip was malfunctioning, she knew this, but he hadn't mentioned... well, duh. What was he supposed to do, you idiot, proudly tell you all about his exploits in murder?

Raising her eyes from the floor, she stared at Spike, daring him to lie to her. Daring him to tell her it wasn't him. He stayed silent, staring right back at her, his eyes guilt-free.

Xander and Giles left quietly, leaving the three of them alone. She wished Buffy would leave too. Already she was imagining Buffy's gloating eyes cheerfully watching her, her bouncy step as she happily moved toward Spike and dusted him.

But, glancing at her friend, Willow saw no cheer, no gloating, and no happy, bouncy movements. "I tried to tell you," she said softly, frowning in concern when Willow remained silent. "Are you okay?" She moved closer, turning Willow's face away from Spike. "Let's go into the shop. We can talk."

"No." Turning her attention back to Buffy, she shook her head, snapping herself free of the disappointment and hurt, wanting to get answers from Spike. "Could you...?" she asked, tipping her head in the direction of the shop. "I just want to-- I need to talk to him. Okay?"

Buffy glanced at Spike, who was watching Willow, his brows dipped down into a frown. "Don't free him, Willow." Her eyes bored into Willow's. "I mean it." She cleared her throat a little uncomfortably. "If you need help--" she began, walking toward the doorway.

"I won't," Willow assured her, staying where she was until Buffy disappeared through the doorway. Her eyes stayed on the rectangle frame, not seeing anything beyond it. She could hear low voices in the other room, and then Xander's raised in anger.

"There's something wrong with him," she muttered, dragging her eyes free of the door to look at Spike. He watched her quietly, not saying anything as she walked closer. The smells of the room permeated her mind as she neared him, the sounds in the other room fading with each step.

Dust, some sweat, a little blood, and above all that was the smell of Spike. His duster, his skin, his hair. He smelled so good, so clean, even with the blood and dirt covering him, he smelled nice. Inviting.

She came to a stop in front of him, looking down on his bloody hair and face, wincing at the purple bruises along his temple and eye. He looked like hell hadn't been kind to him. "Was it you?"

"Yes."

She had her mouth open, ready to tell him not to lie to her, not to manipulate her, but when she heard his honest reply, she was left speechless for a second.

He shifted again, rolling his shoulders back a few times and cracking his neck. "Went there to get some smokes and..." he paused, clearing his throat, "a few other things. They irritated me--"

They--" she stopped, beyond shocked at his admission. Her eyes widened on him, unable to believe he'd killed them over something so flimsy. "And if I happen to irritate you, are you going to kill me too?" She shook her head at herself, angry that she'd allowed herself to get into this position.

"No," he said forcefully, tipping his head back to look her more fully in the eye. "No, I won't hurt you. I won't even hurt the others. I wouldn't do that to you."

Right, she thought. Just to strange girls he didn't know, and who knew who else. "You killed two girls because they annoyed you, I can't--"

"It was the first time I was able to kill a human since getting chipped." His anger rose with every word until he was practically growling. "I only wanted to scare them, to get them to shut up and stop their incessant giggling. But, there wasn't any pain. For the first time in over a year," he said softly, almost reverently, "there was no pain, and I-- I got carried away."

She frowned, not sure if she liked this newest wrinkle. It was hard to get a grip on anything while it was clear and defined, by the time she reached out for it, something shifted and she was grasping at empty air.

Spike was evil, then semi-evil, then partially good, and now he was evil again. What was she supposed to believe?

His eyes were sincere, drawing her into his explanation, tempting her with its simplicity. She could understand the sudden bloodlust, overwhelming in its accessability. If she'd been kept from eating chocolate cake for a year and then had a slice shoved in front of her face, could she resist?

Probably not.

But chocolate cake didn't live and breathe and die. It didn't suffer when she ate it. There was the difference.

She sighed, wondering how she was supposed to deal with this. Understanding didn't lead to acceptance. She could never accept him killing, and he wouldn't be able to accept not killing, not being able to do what came naturally to him.

Right now she couldn't make any decisions, not while staring down at his bloody and bruised face. "I'll be right back."

She sighed again and left the room, leaving him to his suspicious looks and glares. The bathroom off to the right had a stack of clean towels folded in a box by the door for those nights when they returned bloody and filthy. Or when Buffy worked up a sweat during training. Who knew she'd have to use one because Buffy had a little too much fun with Spike's face?

Grabbing a hand towel off the rack and a folded blue towel from the box, she shoved the larger one under her arm and pushed the smaller one under the faucet.

Turning on the tap, she wondered how Diana could possibly think her happiness lay with Spike. He was evil, he killed for pleasure. This wasn't a good thing in her book, not something that led to happiness and love-filled moments unless you were a vampire or a demon.

It led to blood and death.

An image sprang to mind... of her, dressed in leather, wearing more makeup than she'd ever worn in her life, striding through town in high heels, searching for her next kill. Her next meal.

Water splashed on her hand, burning her as it soaked into the towel and her skin. She jerked her hand free, shutting off the faucet with a hiss. Throwing the dripping towel into the bottom of the stained sink, she cranked the cold water up and stuck her hand under it.

"Stupid idiot," she mumbled, hissing again at the cold water flowing over the red marks on her thumb and forefinger. Slightly higher up, she caught sight of an emerging bruise, circling her wrist along with a few half-moon marks. "Hey. What the heck?" She rubbed the sore skin with a glare at the partially-opened door, trying to burn scorch marks across the street and singe the man behind the counter at the Espresso Pump.

Wringing out the warm white hand towel, squeezing all the excess water out, she shut off the faucet and went back into the training room with Spike.

He watched her approach, rolling his eyes at the towels she carried.

Kneeling on his right side, she set the big towel on the floor and leaned forward with the damp hand towel.

"Leave it be," he growled, jerking his head away.

"No." She reached up and grabbed his chin, turning his face toward her. She settled her left hand on his thigh and wiped his forehead free of blood, being careful not to be gentle. With every wince and hiss, she gentled her touch a little more, but stopped when she realized what she was doing.

Taking the corner of the red end of the formerly white towel, she swiped it across the wound, feeling no satisfaction at his growl of pain.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I get why you did it. I do. But, I can't just sit back and watch you kill every night." She stared in disgust and anger at the gash she'd exposed just under the hairline. It was three inches long and nasty-looking and if he wasn't a vampire, she was sure he'd need stitches.

Her eyes slid to his, moving away from the blood and cut skin, the bruised and scraped flesh.

"Well, bully for you," he said sarcastically, staring past her at the brick wall.

She ignored him and continued with her train of thought. "I even understand it. I'd probably do the same thing, but--"

He hissed in pain again, jerking away from the towel with a glare aimed her way. "I don't want your bloody sympathy and... 'understanding'," he told her as if they were filthy, disgusting things. "Look, it was a one-time thing that I don't intend to repeat. But, I also don't intend to snack on pig's blood for the rest of my non-life."

She continued to wipe at the blood, not letting herself feel her heart hardening. Her thumb wiped at a clean spot on his cheek, softly caressing the scraped skin. There was a breath in her chest somewhere, dying to get out, but she held it in, knowing that if she let it out, she'd have to draw in another, and she didn't want to. She was tired of the constant fight for clarity.

"Let me go, Willow." His sudden change of tone, from angry and hateful to low and cajoling, drew her attention from his injuries.

She shook her head, returning her attention to his face. It was a little swollen, and the black and blue bruising was already in an advanced state which meant he'd been here a while.

"I can't. We just need to figure this thing out. Couldn't you just..." she shrugged, frowning at the sticky hair slicked with blood by his temple. She hated this. Hated that she was losing something that felt right in her life. Once again, she was losing someone close to her because of something she couldn't control. Sighing, she resumed wiping his cheek. "You could get blood from the hospital instead of killing," she suggested.

Seeing his unwavering stare and the scoff he tried not to let out, she nodded.

"Well, I can't just let you go." Her eyes drifted to his again, softening the slightest bit at the defeat she found there. "Buffy would probably hunt you down and kill you."

He exhaled explosively, nodding at the reality of her words. "What I said the other night still goes. Murderers, rapists... that's what I'll feed on from now on."

She wanted to say yes. More than anything in that moment, she wanted to smile and nod and let him go, walking off into the sunset with him, though, that probably wasn't a good idea with him liable to burst into flames from it. But, she wanted to agree and live happily ever after.

She deserved that, didn't she? Heartache had claimed her more than her fair share of times in her short dating life, so, really she felt like she deserved to be able to just say screw it and go be with the man she cared for. Half of her was tugging her in that direction, even going so far as to make her slide her hand across to his other cheek, cupping it as she gazed into his eyes with longing.

Longing for everything she wasn't going to get, because the rest of her was rebelling, forcing her to drop her hand and shake her head sadly.

He drew in a deep breath, searching her face for a hint of compromise, looking a little desperate. When she still didn't give in, he closed his eyes in frustration. "I won't kill them, how's that? I'll leave them alive." His voice was even, his eyes clear and sincere when he opened them again, holding her gaze with his own. "Let me out of here. Please."

"What's so important that you can't wait a while?" she asked a little suspiciously.

He growled, shaking his arms and rattling the handcuffs against the chair back. His whole body shook as he rocked back and forth.

When he settled back down, she sighed, watching the fury on his face fade away, replaced by... something she knew all too well. She'd seen it enough times over the past month or more to know it at first sight. What now? she thought. And why did everything always get turned back around on her?

His head raised up, his eyes opening slowly to stare at her angrily. "Moved on already, have you?"

"Moved-- what?" Her eyes darted to his face incredulously, unable to believe he thought... well, okay, she didn't actually know what he thought, but it wasn't something good. It was all hard stares and accusation. "Spike," she sighed, trying to heave herself out from under the weight of the world he'd placed on her shoulders sometime before. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Standing up, she dropped the towel to the floor and stared down at him.

"Oh, right," he laughed scornfully, rolling his eyes as he turned his face away briefly, then turned right back to burn his eyes into hers. "And I suppose the man I smell all over you is 'just a friend'."

She opened her mouth to ask him what kind of drugs Buffy had forced down his throat when she realized what he was talking about. Rolling her own eyes, she shoved her arm under his nose. "That smell?" she asked in a low voice, forcing herself not to use that fist to hit him with, or poke him or something. "The guy at the Espresso-- wait. You know what?" she asked furiously, having had enough of everything for the moment. "It's none of your business. I don't get details about what you do, who you kill, then you don't get details about strange men who decide they want to touch me."

His eyes focused on the bruises ringing her flesh in a mirror of his own bruising the other night and she saw the moment he went from raging jealousy to concerned boyfriend. He pulled his arms, trying to break the handcuffs or the chair, she wasn't sure which, and only ended up cutting into his own wrists.

"Stop it," she yelled over the clunking and scraping of the chair on the cement floor. She circled around to the back of the chair and rested her hands on his. Her fingers slid on the blood wringing his wrists and dripping down his hands. "Will you stop it?" Tightening her hand around his, she glanced at the door, expecting one of her friends to come barreling into the room, stake at the ready, but it remained empty.

When he continued straining his arms, about to dislocate both shoulders, she stood up and moved back in front of him.

His head was lowered as he concentrated on his useless attempts. She stuck her bloody fingers in front of his face, raising his head with her un-bloodied hand. "This is all you're doing. There's a magick barrier around you."

"Then free me, damn it." He rocked the chair back and forth.

"Why?" she said reasonably. "So you can go kill him?"

His struggles stopped, his head raising so that he could look up at her. "Yes." His eyes landed on her fingers, sticky with his blood. He actually licked his lips, causing just a little bit of queasiness to shoot through her.

It was gross; very, very gross, but it was a part of him. Part of what made him... him. So, here now was her chance to see his side of things. To explore that part of him that scared her so much. His blood obsession.

"Do you..." she trailed off, unable to think of an appropriate way of asking him if he wanted to lick the blood off of her fingers. Instead, she held them out with an uncomfortable shrug.

His eyes, still on her fingers, didn't move when he nodded. She did. She closed the small distance between them, stopping only when her knees hit the side of his right thigh. Fighting the disgust associated with knowing exactly what was on her fingers, and what was about to be licked off, she raised her hand to his mouth and waited, letting him make that final move.

Despite her feelings of nausea, she closed her eyes and let Spike lick her fingers.

His lips opened, his tongue sliding out to circle around the tip of her thumb as his mouth closed around it. The sensation was odd, reminding her of his own finger in her mouth, keeping her from screaming as she orgasmed. He sucked on it, drawing it further into his mouth as he let out a low moan from deep in his throat, making her knees go a little weak.

Or maybe it was the images of them in bed that was doing it. The image of Spike between her legs, sliding his tongue inside her as his finger slid between her lips, stifling the screaming she was doing a piss-poor job of halting.

Her hand tightened on the back of the chair, digging into the wood as her legs tried to give out. He was still moaning as she slipped her forefinger into his mouth, and he wasn't the only one. She was doing a fair amount of moaning herself. She looked down at him, watching his face as he licked her clean-- her fingers. Licked her fingers clean... not other... oh, boy. She needed to sit down.

His smile was wicked and predatory, filled with an enormous amount of smugness as he pulled free of her finger for a second. "Have a seat, love." The blue of his eyes darkened as he lowered them to his lap before raising them back to her with a wink.

"Yeah, right," she scoffed, rolling her eyes away from him. And then, feeling that wasn't enough, she scoffed again, just to show him how much she didn't believe his gall. "Done?"

He shook his head slowly, licking his lips even more slowly, drawing it out as long as he possibly could. She wasn't positive, but she was pretty sure her insides were quivering, just from that look in his eyes, and the desire written plainly on his face.

"You want more?" she asked, damning her shaking voice for giving her away. Well, she could do more. And it wouldn't affect her at all. She was made of sterner stuff than that. It was just that she'd already been feeling all gooey toward him, and-- and nothing. Shoving her middle finger against his lips, she stared at the wall and clinically waited for him to finish.

His lips touched the tip of her finger, his tongue darting out to taste the blood. The rhythmic sucking motion didn't bring to mind anything other than the extremely sexy man in front of her sucking on her flesh, stimulating her body like a damn porno movie.

As he drew her finger deeper into his mouth, she pressed closer to his thigh, opening her legs a little. He moaned again, and she could stand it no longer. She pulled her hand away from him and grabbed the wet towel from the floor, wiping the blood from her hands. Moving around to stand in front of him, she looked down at him. He watched her steadily, not letting too much hope shine through, but neither did he let a ton of disappointment show.

She saw it though. For some reason, she could read him like never before. Maybe because she was looking now, paying attention.

And that changed her mind. She'd fully intended to leave him there. To walk out of the room and go talk her friends into letting him go, hoping they'd agree if he promised to leave town again, and this time stay gone. But that look in his eyes, the hope and the disappointment... it made her rethink her decision.

Would it really hurt anyone if she gave him--and herself--a little happiness before marching out of the room and pleading with her friends? Probably. But, she didn't care anymore. She wanted something that wasn't right, and wasn't proper. Something that was wrong and possibly forbidden.

So, casting a quick glance at the doorway, she straddled his thighs, moaning aloud as her jeans stretched tight against her aroused clit.

He chuckled in surprise, but the chuckle died in his throat as she settled down on him. A strangled gasp escaped him. "Scoot up," he whispered, groaning when she rubbed against the bulge in his jeans, stretched taut over his erection.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, asking herself what the hell she was doing. Buffy and the others were in the other room, and she really hoped they didn't catch her doing... well, anything with Spike. At all.

But she also didn't care.

Tightening her arms around him, she sighed, settling closer against him. His mouth settled on her neck, kissing lightly against the pulse point. She didn't immediately pull away, didn't scream and accuse him of trying to bite her, but she did stiffen a little. She did worry.

"Relax," he said huskily, licking the skin behind her ear, making her shudder against him. His teeth nipped her earlobe, drawing the flesh into his mouth.

She did relax, contrary to every instinct in her body screaming at her to get up and run away. She melted into him and moaned at the intense feelings pouring through her. His hips raised the slightest bit, pressing the bulge in his jeans against her clit in just the right way, making her gasp at the intensity of it. Lust was one thing, this... oh, this was more. This was desire mixed with love and a sprinkling of gotta-have-him-now-or-die.

"You do all the right things to me," she whispered in his ear, threading her fingers through his hair. "How do you do that?"

He chuckled softly, his chest rumbling against hers, sending shivers of delight through her. "Let me go and see what I can really do," he said huskily, his voice full of promise. His lips tugged at her skin, creating a hickey with the slow, intense sucking he was applying. "Last night was just a taste."

She shivered again when his teeth scraped against the sensitive flesh and then his tongue flicked the bruising. "Mmm," she moaned, sliding her hands down his back, as he lifted his hips again, pressing so nicely against her clit. She gasped, then gasped again when he repeated the motion, moving faster, pleasing her in more ways than one. "Nice..." she sighed, settling more firmly against him.

"I'd like to touch that gorgeous body of yours," he mumbled, pressing a necklace of kisses around her throat. "Run my hands over your back..." his tongue darted out, sucking on the other side of her neck, the fresh, virgin flesh he hadn't touched yet. "Slide my fingers across your skin, feel you react to my touch."

As if she wasn't reacting to just his voice. Good, Lord... she was practically coming just from listening to what he wanted to do to her. "Don't stop."

He licked her earlobe and raised his hips again, smiling against her neck. "Let me go and I'll never stop--"

Her eyes popped open as his words registered. "What?" she croaked out, sitting up and moving away from him. Every inch of her screamed again, this time to stay where she was, not to leave his lap no matter what. She ignored her body and climbed off of his lap. "You--" she ground out, trying to talk past the anger. Tears swam in her eyes, and she didn't care. Not anymore. He'd pushed her too far this time. "Son of a bitch."

He closed his eyes with a groan, dropping his head back again. "I need to get out of here. There's--" he lifted his head again, staring at her, pleading with her.

With her! He had some nerve. Stupid... jerk. Forcing herself to remain calm when all she wanted to do was encourage the magick in her to grow so she could behead him, or something less deadly, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited for an explanation. "Why are you so anxious to get out of here?"

"It's not important," he told her, looking away. "I just do."

"Not good enough." She paced away, then paced back, keeping herself restrained with short, angry movements, that way she wouldn't smack him as she passed by, cold-cocking him like she wanted to. "Even if I wanted to let you go--which I don't--you screwed up."

"Fine," he sighed, staring straight at her. "That friend of mine? She's in my crypt, and I need to go... I need to--" he stopped, at a loss as to what lie to feed her.

"Oh. Oh, your friend." Smiling in a not-so-friendly manner, she shrugged, watching him struggle for more lies. "I can go check on her. Make sure she's--"

"No," he said too-loudly, too-quickly as sudden panic lit his eyes. She saw the struggle it took for him to calm down, to keep her from becoming even more suspicious than she already was. She also knew that he realized it was too late.

"Yeah, I think I'll definitely be paying her a visit." She bent down and picked up the towels, tossing them in the box by the door. "Maybe have a little chat."

"Willow, don't go. Please. Just--" he shook his arms, once again trying to free himself. "Just let me out of here." He pleaded with her again, and got the same response. His desperation grew exponentially. "For god's sake, Willow, just let me out of here," he shouted, begging her with his eyes not to go.

She looked into his face one last time before leaving the room. There was such desperation there that it was beyond her to stop herself from going. She had to know what was so bad that he was begging her.

She had no idea what it was, she suspected a woman he was involved with, the 'friend' he had assured her was just a friend. Maybe humans chained inside, bleeding themselves to feed him... or well, him bleeding them since the chip wasn't a problem anymore. But wouldn't Buffy had spotted them when she grabbed Spike?

And how had she grabbed Spike? Knocked him out, beat him up and dragged him to the shop?

Spike's eyes dropped to his lap as he sighed, knowing she was going. "I'm--" he paused, chuckling darkly at himself, shaking his head in self-deprecation. His shoulders lifted in a shrug as his eyes raised to hers, holding her gaze until she turned and left the room.


	19. Chapter 19

Willow cautiously approached Spike's crypt, not sure what she was going to find inside. It was still daylight and birds were chirping in the warm afternoon sunlight. Tree branches swayed to and fro above her and the crypt, alternately shadowing and lighting her way.

Her fear level wasn't too high up there since Spike hadn't warned her about anything that might hurt her and she didn't think he wanted her hurt. In his own way, she was sure he did care about her, just like she cared about him. Only a little less strongly. He loved wholly and completely; she knew that from listening to him cry on her shoulder about Drusilla, but she also knew that until recently, he hadn't even noticed her, so how could he love her?

Maybe he'd decided that since he couldn't have Buffy, he'd try his chances with her. The best friend of the woman he loved. Or, maybe she just needed to shut her thought processes off and go inside the crypt she was staring at.

The door was open a little, looking... if not inviting, then at least a little beckoning. She stretched her arm out and lightly pushed on the heavy metal door. It creaked loudly, the hinges screeching in an ear-piercing way as it swung open. Her eyes couldn't quite penetrate the darkness that greeted her, making her nerves jangle with expectation. What was inside? What was so all-fire important to Spike?

Drusilla.

That was the only answer that came to mind. If she was in here, he wouldn't want her found, or hurt. Then again, it was pretty darn logical that he would've warned her if that was the case.

So, taking a deep breath, she stepped up on the threshold and paused, listening for signs of life. Or animation at least. Nothing jumped out at her, no screams met her ears, and not even one bug flew at her. Good signs all. Her other foot joined the first one and she was inside the doorway, pausing, once again waiting and listening.

But there was nothing there except the sarcophagus where she'd seen Spike doing... stuff with a woman she hadn't even seen and probably didn't know. That minute jealousy she'd felt at hearing the other woman talking to Spike flared up into a full-fledged jealousy, raging free inside her.

There'd better not be a woman in here.

Striding confidently into Spike's crypt, she carefully inspected the interior, noting the blood staining the floor, and the lighter lines of concrete, scrapes on the floor caused by something being dragged. Spinning around in confusion, she shrugged to herself, wondering what on earth Spike was so antsy about. There was nothing here. A chair, a sarcophagus, a few half-burned candles... a completely bare square spot under her feet.

Looked like something had been there until recently. Kneeling down, she slid her finger through the dust surrounding the spot, eyeing the chair. The brown and off-white stripes on the old thing went all the way down to the floor in a sort of dust ruffle thing, hiding the legs. It was square.

Resting her hands on her thighs, she pushed herself to her feet and grabbed hold of the chair. It was odd because... it still smelled like him. Like cigarettes and alcohol and something indefinable that was uniquely Spike. Normally she wasn't a big ole fan of the smelling thing, but at times like these, with pain and hurt involved, she seemed to always find it comforting. When Oz left her, she'd slept in one of his old t-shirts, surrounded by the smell that was only his.

When Xander was gone for the summer, driving across the country, she'd kept one of his old stuffed animals in her room, hugging it to her when she missed him.

Spike's smell was nice too. All him. There was a dark musky scent that made her skin tingle and her fingertips itch to touch him. Her lower lip slid between her teeth, wanting to taste Spike.

Pushing the chair to its former spot, wincing at the loud scraping sound as it moved across the stone floor, she stared at the trapdoor she'd exposed.

"Aha," she mumbled, not making a move to open it. "Could be evil things in there. Could be cute little fluffy bunnies too. Either or."

One foot slipped forward, the toe of her shoe playing with the handle. The small metallic clinking had her glancing around to make sure no one was near enough to hear. The need to know pounded through her, making her pulse race and her hands sweat. Something was down there and she sure as hell needed to know what it was. This was one of those times in life. Walk away or continue down the road.

She had no other choice but to continue down the road, even if it held the heartbreak she expected it to hold. Silly, maybe, but the only thoughts that were spinning in her mind, crashing wildly against her skull were thoughts of another woman being down there. There was no fear of evil things and bodies piled against the walls like cordwood. No, her entire thought process was stuck in 'he has a girlfriend' mode and no matter how she tried to derail it, her darn brain wouldn't listen.

It didn't care if he had killed or tortured. It didn't care if people were suffering because he'd left them to die down there... all it cared about was quickly getting over the pain, just ripping that Band-aid off with one pull rather than prolonging the torment with small jerks.

So she knelt by the door, wrapped her hand around the cold handle and yanked the door off.

More darkness. Oh, yay. What was it with... well, duh. Fire-issues. She grabbed a candle from the wall, wrapping her fingers around the stick of creamy wax to pull it free of the sconce it was in and touched the tip of her finger to the wick.

She couldn't remember the Latin word for light so she just whispered it in English. A small flame crackled and flared to life, startling her. She yanked it away from her face and took a deep breath, choking on the acrid smoke. Waving her hand in front of her face to clear the smoke away, she headed toward the trapdoor.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered, holding the candle over the hole.

There was a wooden ladder leading down about six feet, and a dusty dirt floor. She stuck her head down inside, trying to get a look around, but all she could see was the floor and walls that used to be earth. Now they were carved earth with coffins sticking out of them. Neat.

Her hand wrapped around the top of the ladder before she was even aware that she'd made the decision to go downstairs. The cool wood in her palm helped to ground her, to keep her from freaking out about going into a dark hole with possible unknown bad things inside.

Like in her dream. Funny how that kept happening.

Holding the candle in one hand, she stepped down on the first rung of the ladder and slowly descended into... hell?

If there was a woman here, and she was involved with Spike, then yes, this would be her hell. Her shoes clunked on each rung as she stepped down, her hands, slicked with sweat, nearly dropped the candle, and herself as well. She kept a tight grip and took the last step down, standing firmly on the dirt floor as she turned to get her first good look around.

The light cast shadows on the walls, making everything waver eerily back and forth. The yellow light extended all the way to the far side of the cavern, illuminating large rocks with candles placed on them. There was a mattress against the far wall with a mess of blankets and sheets on it. To her right, in the small alcove beside the ladder, was an old wooden table with a cardboard box on it.

No one was there. No woman, no man, no demon. No dead bodies either. Immense relief poured through her and she let her breath out in a rush.

Spike's bed was tempting her closer, drawing her in with a promise of his scent. But so too was the box.

Casting a quick glance around, she decided box first, bed second. Maybe this small cardboard box was what was so important to Spike. Her mood was lighter than before since... well, she was sure there wasn't a woman hiding inside the box, but she was still cautious as she moved toward the table. The lone box sat atop it on the far side, pushed to the back, but not completely out of the way. The flaps were tucked inside or torn off; it was hard to tell in this light. But the box itself looked rather worn, like it'd seen better days back in the 80's.

Her footsteps were soundless, but kicked up little clouds of dust because she was shuffling her feet. She couldn't help it. Being in a strange place while expecting strange things to pop out at her at any moment didn't lend itself to big movements and a careless attitude. She was the careful one, always had been, always... well, there was nothing wrong with being careful. Otherwise you could get dead.

She set the candle down on the table, laying it so the lit end hung off the edge, and then moved around it to grab the box. It slid across the dusty gritty surface with a loud scrape, making more noise than she had since entering his crypt. She held herself still, half expecting a screeching female vampire to come crashing into her, throwing her to the ground to rip her throat out.

No body flung itself at her, so she stood on tiptoes to peer into the box. It looked to be filled with pictures and--she dropped back down on her heels with a frown--a wig?

Spike was a cross-dresser? That's what had him so wigged about her coming over here? Well that was just stupid. Spike didn't-- uh-uh. He was way too into the manly leather thing. Although, maybe sometimes he liked to sit back and relax in a nice black teddy and a woman's wig.

She burst out laughing, imagining Spike sitting upstairs in his chair, smoking and drinking, wearing nothing but lingerie, high heels and a wig, one leg draped casually over the chair arm. It was too funny. And a bit intimidating.

Yanking the box closer, she reached in and pulled out the wig, staring at the red strands that spilled over her arm like water. It was her hair. Only, in a wig-way.

Maybe Spike wasn't in love with her; maybe he wanted to _be_ her.

"Gah!" she yelled, throwing the offensive wig onto the tabletop. This was too creepy.

She heard rustling cloth behind her, but put it down to being freaked out and refrained from jumping and spinning with a scream. Being an accomplished wiccan with a death to her name and a whole heck of a lot of slaying, she had no reason to be a 'fraidy cat. So she composed herself and turned, staring in shock as the woman previously buried under the blankets sat up and blinked at her.

The woman tilted her head to the side as she pushed free of the blankets. Her face was blank, her eyes staring straight ahead. One hand reached behind her and unplugged something from the wall with a strong yank.

Willow's breath left her in a rush and she was unable to draw anymore in for a few seconds. "Oh, my god," she muttered, feeling nauseous. Her stomach flipped and flopped and rolled itself around.

Her eyes widened as the woman, still silent, not even seeming to see her, sat up straighter, dropping the sheets to her lap, revealing a length of wires planted in the hatch in her stomach. Tiny blinking lights, alternating between red and green and numerous other colors lit the small area. She pulled the plug free of her stomach and closed the flap, dropping the cords to the dusty floor, pushing them out of sight.

As soon as she was done, her eyes lit up and her face came to life, her mouth opening in a parody of a yawn, too wide and too breathless to be real. "Spike--" she began, then halted as she finally caught sight of Willow standing across the room. Her forehead wrinkled and her brows dipped into a frown, her eyes showing her confusion.

Willow was right there with her. She opened her mouth to say something, but came up empty, unable to do anything but stare at herself staring at herself. Her own frown was deep and confused and probably matched the robot's. Oh, god. Covering her mouth with her hand, she sank to her knees, taking in deep breaths of air and swallowing desperately, trying to keep from upchucking on Spike's dirt floor.

The robot version of her pushed her small black shirt down over her stomach and stood up. Thankfully she was fully clothed. There was a pair of faded black jeans on her, and-- hey, those were her clothes! How'd Spike get her clothes?

Oh, he was so in trouble!

Using the table to haul herself to her feet, she shoved away the sickness rising in her and concentrated on the robot.

"Who are you and what have you done with Spike?" the robot asked. Her voice was identical to Willow's, and oddly enough, had the same inflections. Her red hair, longer than Willow's, swayed back and forth as she came to a stop in front of Willow. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared, looking mighty angry and threatening.

"I..." Willow whispered, disappointed with herself when all she could get out was a single syllable. She swallowed and licked her lips, trying again. "I'm Willow." She stopped, and couldn't help asking, "Are you and Spike-- do you-- the two of you, do you, um...?" She couldn't say it, couldn't get it past stiff lips that were holding back curses of the magickal variety and cussing of the language variety.

What right did Spike have to do anything with... her? In any form or fashion, without her knowledge. She stared in disgust at the robot version of her. Spike was a sick, sick man.

The robot smiled at the mention of Spike and nodded eagerly. "We 'um' quite a lot." Her smile faded when Willow didn't return hers. She continued to examine her, even circling around slowly, tilting her head this way and that. "I'm confused. There are two of me." Her voice turned perky, another small smile raising her lips. "We're pretty." Seconds later, the smile faded and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She stopped in front of Willow and raised her hand, almost as if to touch Willow's hair, before drawing back suddenly. "Are you a robot or a demon?"

Well, okay, hello. She hadn't just unplugged herself from a wall, so who of the two was actually a robot? Duh. Of course, maybe she didn't know that. Her face had been pretty blank while she pulled the plug from the wall.

How creepy was that?

Too creepy. Creepy enough that Willow was going to inform her of what she was and then shut her off and go have a nice long chat with Spike. The nausea had passed, but there was a knot in her stomach now, sinking further and further as she stood there. Spike had been... doing God knew what with that-- thing all the while he was hanging around her, trying to seduce her. Why?

The nausea was back, keeping up a steady feeling of ickiness. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stepped back, away from the possible danger standing in front of her. "You're a robot," she said quietly, "not me." She felt sorry for the poor little mechanical thingamabobber. She obviously had no clue she was running on batteries and sucking down motor oil. And that Spike was using her.

The robot shook her head with a slightly bemused look, scoffing lightly. "I am flesh and blood, not a..." she paused, staring past Willow at the box on the table and the wig splayed out like a scalped trophy. Her eyes focused slowly on Willow, her head tilting to the side curiously. "Spike once asked me if someone had altered my programming... does he believe I'm a robot? Have you seduced him and convinced him you're the real Willow?" Her eyes dropped to her hand as she clenched it into a fist.

She looked so devastated that Willow altered her plan to immediately tell her what she was.

And to make things worse, she was about to comfort Spike's disgusting sex-toy. Stepping closer, she hesitantly patted the bot on her shoulder a few times. "No. I didn't seduce him." Ha. More like he'd seduced her, and how.

Robot-Willow nodded slowly, lowering her fist to her side and straightening her fingers out. "Good, because I love him. Is he alright?" Her bright eyes peered into Willow's, her lips turning up in a friendly smile. "Do you know where he is? I miss him."

"Uh, I think he's at the Magic Box." Tied to a chair and possibly being abused by Buffy. No sharing that though. If Willow-bot was anything like April then she was strong, deadly strong. "He's helping with, um, there's some..." she thought frantically, wondering if Bot?Girl knew the dynamics of their friendship with Spike. "Languages. Needing deciphered. Yeah," she said importantly, "could be all night. Big demon in town."

"Ah, with Guy-les," the bot said wisely, nodding her head with a wide smile, making Willow snort with laughter. "He's my mentor and father-figure." She stepped up beside Willow, peering at the box with interest. "Those are Spike's. He likes to look at them sometimes."

Willow frowned, pulling out handfuls of pictures. They all contained one single element, one thing that tied them all together, and if she hadn't been freaked before, she certainly was now. "They're me," she whispered, looking at picture after picture of her, Buffy, and Xander, and still others with just her. She was posing for the camera in one with her hand on her hip and her other hand behind her head, grinning at Xander, who was behind the camera.

"No, they're me," Robot-Willow corrected, taking one of the pictures from her.

Willow stared at her for a second before returning to her task. Another one of the pictures was of her and Buffy, arms wrapped around each other. The photo was folded in half, creased down the middle so that Buffy was no longer beside her.

Had it started out the other way around? Had he folded her back originally, not Buffy?

Something small and tingly climbed down her spine, forcing a shudder from her. She tossed the pictures onto the table and yanked the box closer, grabbing the rest of the contents.

Her pink and lilac sweater was there, along with one of her hair scrunchies. She dropped them to the floor, staring at them in revulsion. This was sick. No. No, this was so far beyond sick. Spike was seriously ill. Stalker-ish. Again. Buffy wasn't enough? Now he had to stalk her too?

The robot shifted toward her, setting the picture in her hands on the table. "He loves me. He likes to look at me." She frowned in confusion, her brow wrinkling in a way that Willow knew all-too-well, she'd done it enough times herself. "Does he look at you too?"

Willow closed her eyes, fighting back the urge to scream and hit things. The magick inside her was, thankfully, not enough to do more than light a candle these days, otherwise it was possible that Buffy would walk into a training room filled with nothing but smoke and ashes where Spike used to be. "Yes. Yes, he looks at me. He--" seeing the hurt that crossed the robot's face, she took a deep breath and kept herself from mentioning the time they'd been spending together. Namely, the night before last. "He's shocked that I look so much like you. Says it's uncanny."

The robot smiled again, relief shining through that sunny look of hers. "Oh. Good."

Swallowing thickly, Willow paced away, careful not to kick up too much dust with each step. At the edge of the mattress, she spun around and asked the question that'd been on her mind since seeing the robot. "How long have you and Spike been..." oh, for god's sake, she thought to herself, you're old enough to say the damn words, so just say them. "How long have the two of you been fu-- in love?"

That smile on the robot grew exponentially, making Willow wonder if it could just keep going higher and higher, splitting her face in two, baring wires and framing for everyone to see as her head dropped back on her neck, bobbing back and forth, or whether it would eventually have to stop creeping up the sides of her face.

"Three years, two months and fifty-five days," creepy robot girl answered. "I knew I loved him the night he came to my dorm room." She paused, tilting her head again, observing Willow solemnly. "Do you have my memories? Are you a robot?"

"Yes, I do. I remember being terrified that night. I thought he was going to kill me. Or worse." Worse being turned into a vampire to hurt Buffy and possibly even kill her. That, more than anything, made her fear vampires. She didn't want to turn on her best friends. Ever. Hence the freaking out over the Ben-thing.

"He would never kill us," the bot chided, striding past her to the bed. She bent down, picking up a book to show Willow. "He loves us. See? He gave me presents; magick books!" Her proud smile left a lot to be desired in Willow.

She glanced over at the familiar book, recognizing it as one of the ones she'd given him a few days before for his 'friend'. "He doesn't love us," she mumbled, focusing her eyes on something, anything, that wasn't a part of this twisted situation. Something that wouldn't make her think about how much it hurt her to know that she would never be able to be with him again. Never. This just wasn't something she could look past and forgive. "He's using you." Settling her eyes on the one thing that brought to bear all that hurt she was trying to avoid, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

Waited for the artificial being in front of her to deny that she was being used.

The robot's sunny smile slipped a little as she shook her head in denial. "My blonde god would never use me," she told Willow angrily, her frown deepening.

"Your blonde god," Willow snorted, bursting into bitter gales of laughter. "Bet he loves that name. Look, uh, Willow... Spike is evil." When the robot only continued to stare back at her blankly, she rolled her eyes and clarified. "He's a vampire. He kills people. In fact," she said quietly, reminded of how she'd come to be there in the first place, "he killed two girls a few nights ago."

"I know," the robot said solemnly. "I told him to only kill bad people, and he said he would."

"That was your idea?" Willow said angrily, dropping her arms with a sigh. "Killing bad people doesn't make it okay. It's still killing, no matter what light you put on it."

Willow-bot smiled and nodded, looking about as bright as a dim flashlight bulb dying in the night. "He loves me," she repeated.

Apparently that was her end-all be-all answer to everything. "Great. Love conquers all, right?" When the robot nodded enthusiastically, Willow exhaled in disgust. "No it doesn't. It makes it wrong and messy." Seeing the unwavering defense of Spike on the robot's face, she sighed and rolled her eyes. Deep inside of her, there was a question swimming around, waiting for her to ask it.

Waiting to be acknowledged.

She cleared her throat and damned herself for being so curious. For wanting to know, and even more, for opening her mouth and actually asking. "How did you two, you know, get together the first time?" Did it matter? she asked herself, was it going to change anything? No. But it might satisfy a little of her curiosity.

The robot smiled widely--was there any other kind with her?--and dropped down to the bed. "Spike likes me to tell him about that too. I mean, you know, when we made love the first time," she clarified, sounding like she was imitating Willow's way of talking. "I was afraid he was using me. That he was going to kill me afterwards. But he didn't." She glanced sideways at Willow, looking sad all of a sudden. "You don't have my memories."

Willow skirted around the robot and sat on the other edge of the mattress with a shake of her head, trying not to think of what that bed had seen and heard and felt. Tried not to wonder about it either. Her hand lowered to the mattress, her thumb rubbing the fabric softly. "I don't have... no, I don't." Consciously raising her hands from the mattress, she set them in her lap and focused her attention on the robot.

Her sad look was still there, lamenting the fact that Willow didn't know the touch and feel of Spike. The taste and the smell of him, the way he-- okay, Willow, enough, she chastised herself. Concentrate on the robot. The icky sex-bot beside her. Okay, that helped.

Suddenly, that sad look fled, replaced by a look of extreme excitement. "Oh!" the bot chirped, holding the book up triumphantly. "I could do a spell to make you remember. There's one in here."

"A spell?" Willow choked out, hiding her laughter behind a cough or two. "Uh, no, really that's okay." She turned and gestured to her, smiling in a friendly manner. "Why don't you just tell me?"

The robot's face fell and her hands dropped to her lap. "I know my magick is unreliable and sketchy at best, and that it always goes wonky, but..." she looked at the book in her lap and shrugged. "I've been reading a lot."

Willow sighed, staring at the book as well. She knew the spell the robot wanted to do, and she also knew it wasn't that difficult a spell. And, more importantly, she was pretty damn positive that a robot couldn't do spells. So would it really hurt her to let the poor... thing have a go at it? "Okay," she agreed. "But, if it doesn't work, not on account of your skills or anything," she rushed to assure the robot before her face could fall completely into depression, "then you can just tell me and I'd be okay with that."

The robot grinned and jumped up, shoving the book at Willow. "I have ingredients for spells here--" she stopped suddenly, biting her lip with a sideways look. "Don't tell Spike, okay? He doesn't know I leave here, and... he'll be mad. So, could you not?"

Willow frowned, curious to know why the robot was sounding more and more human. She nodded, staying silent as she watched the robot cross to the rock beside the bed and lift the candle carefully before setting it aside with a small smile. "Spike likes the smell. He says it reminds him of me," she told Willow, having the grace to look embarrassed as she hefted the rock over on its side and lifted out a bag of herbs.

"Oh, look," Willow mumbled, wrapping her arms around her knees, "we've got herbs and not even the funny kind that gives ya the munchies." Resting her chin in one hand, she watched the robot prepare the spell, not paying much attention to the particulars. She wasn't too concerned that it would work. "Is that larkspur?" she asked idly as the robot pulled a few small purple flowers from a stem and dropped them into a pile on a flat part of the rock.

"Uh-huh," she mumbled, dropping something yellow--a dandelion?--into the mix. Her attention was solely on the spell she was mixing, going from that to the book beside her. Willow was pretty sure her lips even moved as she traced her finger across the page, reading it closely. She picked up the candle and looked around for a match. "I can't light it."

Willow pushed herself to her feet and joined the robot by the rock. Touching her fingertip to the wick, she mumbled, "Light." The candle lit, the flame flaring up a small bit, nothing like the previous candle she'd lit upstairs, but enough to work.

The robot stared raptly at the flame, her eyes widening. "You did that without using Latin," she whispered, biting her lip. "You are a demon."

Willow shook her head and sat cross-legged on the floor by the book. "Nope, flesh and blood-- uh, human flesh and blood. I just know a lot about magick."

"Oh," the robot said, frowning as she tried to find her place on the page of the book. She once again traced her finger down to the middle and picked up where she'd left off. "If you're human, and I'm human... are we sisters?"

Willow grinned and shook her head with a laugh. "No. No, we're not sisters. Just... two people who happen to look a lot like each other. Like doppelgängers."

"Doppelgängers. I don't know that word." Her eyes slid away from Willow's, staring at the wall as she accessed her data banks. "A person exactly like another; a double. A wraith, especially of a person not yet dead. Also doubleganger."

"Nope," Willow muttered, watching her, "you're not a robot. Uh-uh. No way, no how." Rolling her eyes, she shifted into a more comfortable position and stretched her neck, trying to work out the kinks still remaining. Mostly her back was healed, with a few twinges and some bruising, but she still got sore when she didn't stretch or work the muscles.

The robot--Willow refused to think of her as Willow--sprinkled a few more flowers onto the small pile and used her thumb to crush them, though... not an easy task since they weren't dried. Basically, she had a robot version of her with fresh flowers attempting to work a spell to mess with her memories.

Second thoughts were parading through her, making her hands sweat and her fingers twitch. "Um, maybe we shouldn't do this," she began, biting her lip nervously.

The robot didn't appear to hear her. She lifted the candle and dripped some wax onto the flowers. They sizzled and popped, and the smell of burning leaves wafted throughout the cavern. "Commemini," the robot whispered, closing her eyes as she reached a hand out to touch Willow's forehead.

Willow felt a burning sensation on her skin and then deeper, penetrating into her skull and then her brain. She jerked back, out of the robot's reach, wondering if this was the Wickanninish, if she was being burned from the inside out. Shoving herself to her feet, she closed her eyes, swaying a little. The pain started to subside, then flared back up, blinding her with the pain and the heat and the-- she screamed, holding her hands to her temples as she dropped to her knees on the cold dirt floor.

"What's wrong?" the robot asked anxiously, trying to pry Willow's hands free. "Oh, no, I did it wrong, didn't I?" She dropped her hands as Willow opened her eyes and looked at her. Stepping back, the robot's lip began to tremble, her eyes filling with... something liquid-y. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should've known better." She stomped her foot, angry at herself. "I can never do magick right!"

Willow took a deep breath, followed by another, getting a handle on the pain, or trying to, but it wasn't cooperating. It burned a path in her mind, lighting fires along the way until her whole body felt like mush with a white hot heat fueling it, smelting her into a pile of goo.

Her eyes drifted shut as she slipped into unconsciousness and fell to the floor.

********

Willow woke up with a headache the size of Canada. Something soft was underneath her. And it smelled good too, like Spike. Her eyes opened slowly, carefully moving so as not to irritate her grumpy head. Wherever she was, there was apparently a mirror across from her because-- no. That was a robot.

Willow-bot.

She stifled a giggle, wincing when her head sent up warning signals to cut out the funny business. Rolling onto her other side, she snuggled into the blankets, inhaling Spike's scent and the smell of burning flowers. Candle wax was in there too, along with vanilla. Smoothing her hand on the pillow beneath her head, she sighed and held herself still, not wanting to move. Not wanting to face reality just yet.

An image of Spike standing across a dark warehouse, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself angrily, came to her, startling her with its clarity and unfamiliarity. She kept her eyes closed, trying to remember when that had happened. He stopped suddenly, his eyes landing on her, his lips quirking up slowly, sexily.

He paced toward her, his movements slow and stalker-ish, leading him unerringly toward her. Her heart was beating frantically, her eyes widening as he approached, licking his lips slowly.

"Don't eat me," she whispered, feeling her lips move and hearing her voice speak, but not having any idea how she'd done that, since she hadn't intended to say anything. At least not anything as loaded as that.

"Oh," he grinned, sliding a hand down his chest absently, "I'll do that and more if you want."

Willow snapped her eyes open, but the images didn't go away. She was remembering, from the spell. Remembering things that hadn't happened, but were engraving themselves into her mind, making them her memories. As soon as she saw and heard and smelled something, it was a part of her. It was _her_ memory.

"P-- please," she sobbed, cringing away from Spike as he stopped in front of her, caressing her with his gaze. Feeding a sensual need in her with his own want and desire. "I don't want to die." She dipped her head down, unable to drop her eyes as easily. They stayed fixed on the monster in front of her.

His eyes softened the smallest bit as he watched her cower from him. One hand lifted to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin tenderly. "Love, I don't want to kill you." He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead, and she somehow knew, as she sat there on the wooden crate with Spike touching her and sliding his lips down to her cheek, that this wasn't the first time he'd kissed her.

He'd done so just minutes earlier after she tried to run from him, barreling out the door with a speed she hadn't known she possessed. He caught her around the waist, his muscular arms halting her steps as quickly as a dog's leash. She screamed, kicking at him and trying to scratch him, anything to get away. He carried her back inside the warehouse and slammed the single door shut, cementing her off from the rest of the world.

And possibly life.

Willow moaned on the mattress on Spike's dirt floor, rolling over restlessly as more images came to mind.

Spike kissing her firmly as she tried her best to make herself invisible to his gaze, that hard, penetrating gaze that locked her in place. His lips pressed against hers, and she wasn't sure who was more startled. Her, or him.

He yanked back, staring at her as if she'd done something to him, then swept her into his arms, carrying her over to the wooden crate and setting her on top of it.

Muttering and pacing followed, and curses aimed at Drusilla and Angelus. She was sure she heard him call Angelus the great big poofy one, but she couldn't be sure. She felt a little like she could relate to him, what with Xander and Cordelia flaunting their repulsive relationship in front of her and everyone else at the Bronze. She ended up muttering to herself as well, and he stalked over to her, joining in, letting her know he'd seen them all lovey-dovey together, and that he understood how she felt.

"Isn't it awful," he'd asked her, sitting beside her on the crate, "that the one person you're most devoted to is the one who ends up ripping your heart out?"

She'd nodded a little hesitantly, then more enthusiastically as their rants got louder.

Suddenly, from out of the blue, she noticed that Spike's hand was on her thigh, rubbing her absently. He probably didn't even know he was doing it, but when she clammed up, he looked at her, frowning when he noticed where his hand was. They both stared at it as he went still. And then he slid it to her knee, squeezing lightly, his eyes on hers, judging her reaction to him.

Her reaction was mixed, equal parts desire and fear. So when he leaned toward her, turning her head with the fingers of his other hand and pressed his lips to hers, she'd inhaled slowly, fearfully, and waited. She wasn't sure what she wanted more, him to stop, or to continue, but when his lips moved over hers more fully, his tongue darting out to taste her, she knew she didn't want it to stop. Not for anything.

Willow, in Spike's cavern, gasped aloud as the two of them kissed frantically, using their hands to touch and caress, to slip inside clothing and unhook things. The mattress underneath her was too soft, nothing like the stone floor she'd had her first sexual experience on. It didn't smell anything like the duster beneath her that night. But the feelings inside of her, the desire and need, the growing anticipation of each of Spike's touches, and the taste of his kiss... all of that was there, awakening in her as if she was beneath him right now.

As if his hands were under her shirt, holding her hips still as he thrust into her with no care for her virginity. A strangled cry left her lips as she remembered the pain, felt it all over again.

Everything suddenly sped up and there was pain on the top of her left breast, like knives piercing her flesh, tearing her skin as she bled into Spike's mouth. The pain was almost too much, her desire was flagging and she was starting to realize what she was doing. And who she was doing it with.

He must've felt her stiffen, because he went still as well, moving only his lips and tongue on the wound, sucking her blood from her body. She was getting drowsy, feeling languid as he finally lifted his mouth from her, raising his head to look at her. He was human, there wasn't one bump or ridge showing, not one yellow eye piercing her with its feral-ness. His lips had trace amounts of blood on them, and it grossed her out, but his body was warm on top of hers, his hands, callused and rough, trailed along her arms, down her thighs, touching her in all the right places to get her aroused again.

She closed her eyes against the sight of his bloody lips, holding back her disgust when he licked them and kissed her. The disgust quickly fell by the wayside when there was no taste of blood on his lips.

A flash, and she was lying on his duster, watching him sleep. She took it all in, felt it all, every inch of Spike was explored while he slept, though he was unaware of her touches. She watched him sleep, ran her thumb over his lips before kissing him lightly, thanking him for helping her. He was drunk, passed out beside her. After she'd shoved him off of her that is.

Willow opened her eyes, thinking the memories over, but suddenly time sped up and she was in another warehouse with Spike, who was drunk again. There was a bed, and broken bottles being threatened to be shoved into her brain, but no tenderness, no remembrance on his part. Fear for herself was once again on the menu, and pain and death were sure to be the appetizers.

Spike surprised her, though, by leaving Xander at the school and taking only her. That was different. She had the full memory of Spike taking both her and Xander with him that night. But she also now had this newer memory. Just her and Spike and a big bed that she couldn't seem to stop staring at.

When he saw her gaze slide to the bed once again, he smirked her way, lifting an eyebrow at her. "You seem preoccupied with that bed, love." He leaned against the side of it, crossing his feet at the ankle and his arms over his chest, pretending to be thinking hard about something. He gasped dramatically, holding a hand to his mouth as his eyes lit up. "Oh, did you want to get down and naughty with the demon, pet?"

She shook her head frantically, denying the truth, denying the desire she felt for him just from seeing him again after so long. Even his voice was effecting her, making her shiver the tiniest bit, just enough for him to notice. She opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, to get his jollies elsewhere, but that's not what came out. Not surprising, since it wasn't her actually in the memory.

She shrank back against the bench she was seated on, ducking her head as he moved up behind her. A familiar tingle went through her when he lifted her face with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. There wasn't any softening of his features this time, just a cold, detached appraisal of her face and body as he stood looking down at her.

"I-- I'll do the spell," she promised, shaking free of his grip on her chin, pulling back out of his reach. Her eyes lifted to his, and the Willow in Spike's crypt wanted to cheer for the bravery the other Willow was displaying in the face of such terror. "But I need..." she looked around surreptitiously, searching for an excuse to get him out of there, any excuse.

His hand touched her hair, stroking down the strands softly. He was close behind her, so close she could feel him, but he wasn't touching any part of her except her hair. He was too close for her comfort, caressing her hair with slow, methodical strokes. As quick as a wink, he was sitting beside her, leaning in to sniff her neck. When he pulled back, his eyes fastened on her chest as it rose and fell with her frantic breathing. "What do you need, pet?" The words, so simple, were filled with innuendo, and she knew he was aware of it. His hand, still on her hair, threaded into the strands, gently pulling her closer.

Now there was tenderness. He closed his eyes and inhaled again, sliding his hand to the back of her head, moving her toward him slowly, inexorably toward his kiss. She wanted it, needed it more than water, more than breath. Spike was all she was at that moment, the smell of alcohol and leather, cigarettes and man. Everything in that moment in time was drawing her toward Spike, and she was powerless to stop it, even had she wanted to.

Gasping out as his lips touched hers, she opened her mouth, welcoming his lips and tongue on hers, inviting him to touch her more, doing all but begging him to. His hands threaded more tightly into her hair, holding her head still as he kissed her. It was hard and punishing and she didn't mind a bit. In fact, she preferred it this way; it gave her an excuse. She was being forcefully seduced, and in that way she wasn't cheating on Oz, not like she was with Xander.

Hussy, her mind whispered to her.

Willow lifted her hands to her head, pressing them to her eyes, willing the pain of the memories to recede, to go away and leave her alone to die in peace. The robot beside her was softly smoothing the hair back from her forehead, but it wasn't helping. Nothing was helping except the pleasure from Spike's touch and his sighs against her cheek.

They were on fast forward again, quickly standing up and pressing into each other, trying to crawl inside each other's skin. Hands pulled and tugged at clothing, shedding more this time than before, and soon, she was standing naked by the bed while he finished undressing and stood up, looking at her. She could tell by the small smile on his lips that he liked what he saw, and the Willow going through the memories felt pride flow through her.

She knew she had a nice body. And knew she looked good back then as well. At the time, she hadn't a clue, but now, when she knew more and had seen more naked bodies... she knew what looked good. And both Oz and Tara had whispered beautiful things about her body. Even Spike had--

Her mind shoved thoughts of the Spike from now away, preferring to concentrate on the Spike of then. The one oblivious to the pain and hardship ahead for both of them. He took the two steps separating them and stood still, not touching her yet, just looking his fill. Caressing her body with his eyes again, just like before, and she wondered if he remembered. He hadn't mentioned it, or referred to it, nor was there a spark of recognition in his eyes. By all accounts, he was unaware that he'd slept with her once before.

She wasn't as shy as she used to be, nor was the girl in front of Spike, so she was happy when her hand raised and touched his chest. Her other hand joined the first, her nails scraping against the flesh of his pecs, which were hard and muscle-filled. His eyes followed her hands as they slid down to his stomach, and then rested on his hips, not daring to go any further.

His lips twitched in amusement when she bit her lip and swallowed, looking away as awkwardness overcame her. Just as her hands dropped from his hips, he settled his own hands over hers and moved them around behind his back. Depositing them there, he moved closer and raised his hands to her face, threading his fingers in her hair. She closed her eyes as his lips descended to hers, drawing her breath into his mouth.

Fast forward again, and they were on the bed. Spike was lying on his side, running one hand down her stomach, caressing her softly. The look on his face took her breath away. There was reverence in his eyes, and in the smile he couldn't seem to hide. And then she was beneath him, holding his hips tightly as he moved inside her. Willow felt the girl in the memory closing in on her orgasm, and was unprepared to feel it crash into her, full-force. She gasped loudly, throwing her head back as pleasure swarmed through her, washing over her skin and curling her insides into a sated mass of goo. Happy goo that wanted to rest, but the memories wouldn't let her.

She was off again on another one, this time in her dorm room. It was familiar and comforting. She knew this memory, knew what was going to happen. At least in the beginning. As soon as he was in the door, he closed it and turned around, sliding the lock home before facing her eagerly.

"Miss me, baby?" His words were followed by a sexy chuckle as he waited for her to run into his arms and commence to sexing him up. Whatever.

Good for her! She stayed right where she was, crossing her arms over her chest with an unimpressed look. "Was I supposed to?"

His smile slipped a little, but didn't disappear completely. "I missed you," he confided, shrugging out of his duster. He dropped it to the chair at her desk and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. "Dru never..." he sighed, sitting up straighter, shrugging off his melancholy mood. "Well. Doesn't matter, does it?"

Willow watched him warily, not quite sure if he remembered this time. Two encounters, two sexual experiences. She winced inwardly, remembering the awkwardness she'd felt around Oz. He'd sensed something different about her, and her hemming and hawing hadn't helped matters, especially since he'd broken up with her for a while senior year for believing she was cheating on him.

Lies. Lies, all lies. She'd saturated the gang with lie after lie, heaping more on top of the pile of crap she'd already thrown at them. Her... whatever it was with Spike just wasn't something she felt she could tell them about.

Oz had smelled someone on her that night, but since he'd never met Spike, he didn't know his scent and didn't make the connection.

Now Spike was back, wanting to... what? Sleep with her a third time just so he could forget about it again? Not likely.

Willow smiled in satisfaction when his eyes dropped to his hands, which were fidgeting in his lap.

"I thought there was..." he paused, frowning at her before abruptly standing up. "There's something between us, love. We did shag, didn't we? Last year?" His brows dipped down in uncertainty, his eyes leaving hers to land on the floor for a brief second. As quick as that, the smirk and swagger were back. Spike never was one for wasting a chance at macho bravado. "Quite right we did. Well and proper too." His smile widened, his self-confidence firmly back in place.

"It was a mistake," she told him, standing up to face him, to look him straight in the eye. "A mistake that won't be happening again."

He grabbed her hips, hauling her to him forcefully enough to take her breath from her. She immediately tried to free herself, but his hands were on her, touching and caressing, slipping under her blouse, holding her still for his kiss.

"Is that right?" he whispered against her lips. "Well, let's make another." He opened his mouth on hers hungrily, his lips devouring hers as she fought to stay firm in her resolve.

But it was no use. Just his voice alone got to her. Never mind his touch and his kiss.

She sighed, melting into him, closing her eyes on his smile of satisfaction. Her chest rose against his, her hands landing firmly on his waist. It was like she couldn't resist him.

Did she even want to? Uh, yes! Hello. No being used this time. She was made of much tougher stuff than that.

Willow tried to raise her hands to shove him away, but her younger self was apparently not made of tougher stuff than that. Crap. He continued to seduce her, working his charming way back into her heart and as he laid her down, pressing his body over hers, fitting perfectly into her embrace, while they were still fully clothed-- that's when she felt it. That's when she knew.

She was in love with Spike. Her heartbeat sped up, her breathing growing more erratic, and she pulled back to stare at him. Kept him from kissing her again, from dismissing this moment as anything other than a major revelation. She looked into his eyes, feeling every inch of his body on top of hers, feeling his exhalation on her cheek as he released a pent-up breath that he didn't even need.

Because of her. He was breathing because of her, and she just about burst with pride at having affected him so much.

She raised her hand to his cheek, memorizing this moment, trying to etch it in her mind, and the Willow in Spike's crypt was sure she'd done a damn good job on that front because she was feeling everything right along with them. Her hand felt the smooth skin of his cheek, felt his jaw clench when he swallowed in uncertainty, not sure why she was suddenly staring at him so intensely. She could smell his leather duster, and Buffy's perfume, but it was the overwhelming scent of Spike that surrounded her, drowning her. Small sounds out in the hall, distant and familiar, reached her ears, and the taste of him still graced her lips.

Licking them nervously, she took in a deep, steadying breath and opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him, but that's when Riley and his jerk-friends decided to close the building off. She looked frantically toward the door, hoping they didn't know Spike was here, that they wouldn't find him. She wanted to help Spike get away, but she could see the suspicion in his eyes as he pushed off of her.

He darted a look toward the door as well, then bored his eyes into hers as she stood up and moved quickly toward it.

"You have to g--" she started to warn him, but he cut her off, grabbing her arm and shoving her back on the bed.

"Keep your bloody mouth shut," he ground out, stalking toward the door, grabbing his duster on the way. "Don't you go screaming to let them know I'm here. Got that?" His eyes were so fierce and furious-looking. So hard and cold.

He thought she was going to give him away? She was trying to save him!

Before she had a chance to tell him the truth, the lights went out and he was out the door. Stupid jerk hadn't even stuck around long enough to let her explain. Her fear for him warred with the anger, and the fear easily won out. She was terrified.

Fast forward. He hadn't pushed her out the door in front of him, hadn't used her as a human shield; he jumped through the doorway, straight into her old memories. Nothing changed from that part on.

Willow, still on Spike's bed with a robot version of her ineffectually tending to her aches and pains, once again opened her eyes, hoping that was it, that the memories were over. What else could there be? But they weren't.

She was in Giles' apartment, standing in front of the bathroom door, working up her nerve to go inside and face Spike. There was a mug of blood in one hand and a straw in the other. She bit her lip and dropped the straw into the mug. Turning the handle, she pushed the door open with her shoulder.

Spike was watching in disinterest, not even batting an eye when she went inside and shut the door behind her. Although, when she turned to lock the door, his eyes widened minutely.

"'Bout time," he was griping, staring straight ahead as she neared him. "If you're trying to starve me, you're bloody well doing a good job." His left foot kicked at the edge of the tub, his whole body moving around a little, shifting as he tried to get more comfortable.

Willow knew how he felt: the younger version of little Miss Robot-Her wanted to shift and squirm too, but didn't because she thought it might look a little odd on her, being as she was standing up, and not chained. There was an air of awkwardness between them, and she was feeling extremely nervous.

She suspected he was too, or at least irritated. She knew he'd ignored her completely since showing up on Giles' doorstep the day before.

And then her feet were moving, taking her closer to him, and the anxiousness she felt was real as she imagined the conversation ahead. Poor Willow-bot had a hard job ahead of her. Telling Spike how she felt had to be nerve-wracking. But she knew it had to happen; it had happened. Just, not to her, to the other Willow.

She was getting confused about what was right, and what was wrong. What had happened, and what hadn't happened. Something said flitted through her mind and she wondered if it was something she'd heard or just attained as a new memory. Two Willows, and neither one actually there. Memories that weren't real, but were there nonetheless.

She wondered as she knelt beside the tub, playing her thumb along the rim of the mug, she wondered if telling Spike was going to help, or hinder. They ended up together, that much was obvious from the bot's side of things. But, again, it wasn't real.

She knew that the bot version of her thought it would help, that it would go a long way toward patching things up between her and Spike, but the reaction she'd get from him worried Willow. She felt the biting fear that he'd laugh at her, or be annoyed, maybe even smirk proudly and brush her off as an amusing pastime. She felt like her life was either about to end, or begin. All with a few words aimed at Spike.

Her eyes dropped to him, and she was surprised to find him watching her. Ah, not as impartial as he'd like Willow to think.

As she continued to stare at him, he turned the curiosity into an annoyed eye roll, then dropped his gaze to the mug of warm pig's blood.

"Swill," he muttered, keeping his eyes trained on it.

"I know," she agreed, tracing her thumb around the rim of the mug. Her thumb slipped from not paying attention and dipped into the sticky red liquid. She raised it to her mouth, sucking it off absently.

Willow groaned at the memory, gagging on the acrid taste of the pig's blood. "Ew," she mumbled, staring at the dirt ceiling above her.

The other Willow made a face and shuddered but pretended like it hadn't happened.

She stopped tracing her thumb along the rim of the yellow mug and swallowed a few times. "It's all we could get... and you're, you know, sort of not here to live high off the hog."

His eyes, once irritated, were now filled with something she liked seeing on him: desire. Because of blood? Ew. But then he lost the desire and sneered at her.

"Did you practice that?" he said derisively, holding his shackled hands out for the mug. "Just give it here and go. I don't feel like company."

Willow rolled over onto her side as the robot continued to stroke her hair gently, whispering words of comfort to her. Spike was hurt, physically and emotionally. Because of her. He thought she'd wanted to give him up to the Initiative that night, and he didn't want to let her know how much it mattered to him.

But she could see it, in his hands fisted in his lap, and his angry glare.

Back on the mattress, Willow sighed and allowed the other Willow's feelings to flow through her, to encompass her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that she hadn't meant to hurt him. But she was still stuck inside robo-Willow's mind.

So she held the cup up, as if she had any choice, and started to put the straw near his lips.

 

And then she was moving quickly. She pulled the straw out of the cup and threw it in the trash by the sink as she talked, apologizing to him, telling him that she hadn't intended to give him up. She admitted to having feelings for him and ducked her head as she told him exactly how strong those feelings were.

Willow shifted on the bed, shaking her head as the dizzying images fast forwarded. She was really getting nauseous from all the sudden shifts in sight and sound. Spike was gritting out words, angry words aimed at her, and she thought she might be giving as good as she got, felt like she was. The words whispered through her mind, too fast to grab for the moment, but there for later when she wanted to remember them.

And then she was kissing him, making the first move for once. He was startled by her actions, and she knew he was chastising Willow for feeling pity for him. More angry words followed, the images zipping by so quickly now that she couldn't get a fix on any one thing. Still in the bathroom, but no longer was she on the floor beside him.

She was lying on top of Spike, kissing him hungrily, listening to his grunts of pleasure mixing with her sighs and moans. Slowing down again, the scene came to almost a complete stop then returned to normal speed. She was naked from the waist down, sitting on Spike, who was fully dressed still, but unzipped. His pants were undone, his belt buckle cutting into her thigh as she moved up and down on him.

Willow moaned on the mattress, feeling that spectacular pleasure soar through her, spiraling in all directions throughout her body. Spike's feet were beneath him, giving him leverage to arch into her, thrusting his hips up hard enough to make her gasp. His hands, still shackled, clunked loudly against the tub as he grabbed her thighs, his nails digging into her flesh.

Willow saw her hands on the edge of the white porcelain tub and focused on them as he slid in and out of her. She felt her fingers tightening on the cold tub as her body tightened on Spike. She was trying desperately to hold herself together long enough to give Spike pleasure, to show him that she loved him with her actions if not her words, to imprint her fingers on the surface of the tub.

"Come for me, baby," Spike ground out, thrusting deep inside her, holding himself there as he moved back a little, stimulating her clit. She did as he asked, exploding into a million pieces as he continued to move, thrusting harder and deeper than before, digging his fingers into her flesh.

She moaned as her body and her brain both came crashing down. Spike caught her, holding her as best he could with his shackled hands, kissing her as she shook, still shuddering against him.

"I love you," she told him, gazing into his eyes as she spoke. His body reacted to the words, his arms tightening around her, dragging the chains down her arms and scraping her thighs, but she didn't care. His body shuddered inside hers, his mouth capturing hers for a bruising kiss that answered her words.

At least she thought it did. She chose to believe so.

Willow closed her eyes and lay still, waiting for more memories to crash into her. They did, at an alarming rate, too fast to see, too quick to hear, but sealed in her mind as being real. As they continued to crash against her tired brain, her headache grew and her body aches intensified. When the pain became too much and she was beginning to pray for a coma, the memories and images slowed down, then came to a screeching halt.

She was lying half on top of Spike, half on his sarcophagus, drifting off to sleep as he caressed her hair. They were both naked, both sated. She closed her eyes, sighing as she let herself give in to the pull of sleep, but before she could completely let go, Spike kissed her shoulder softly.

"I love you." The words were as soft as the kiss, whispered against her sweat-slicked skin. The words were gentle, but the tone... oh, the tone was so sincere that she felt her heart tighten in her chest.

The other Willow, the one watching and listening, the one feeling and touching... she drew in a hitching breath and curled up on her side.

A soothing hand caressed her cheek, cool to the touch, but not the one person's hand she wanted touching her.

Spike should be here now, not tied up in the training room. He should be holding her as she hurt, soothing her aches and pains. Curing what ailed her.

Unconsciousness was beckoning and she heeded it, not seeing any other release for the pain and the influx of memories.


End file.
